Tag Archives: real talk

Come again?

When I was 15 years old I walked behind a beaded curtain to the toy section of an adult store in downtown Portland, Oregon and bought my first vibrator. I didn’t get into a lot of trouble as a kid, so this felt rather bold and risky to me at the time. I was petrified I’d suffer some kind of humiliation if the clerk asked for my ID and recognize me for the salacious minor that I was. Instead, he glanced up at me for only a moment and then back down at his book.

I masturbated a lot but I wasn’t sure if I had ever cum before. I really wanted to try a vibrator. I had done my research online and picked out a toy that was both highly reviewed and within my $20-30 dollar budget. A pink pocket rocket.


I spotted it immediately. Still scared, I took it off the shelf like some smutty porn parody version of (panty?) Raider’s of the Lost Ark; praying I could touch it and get out of there without the whole building collapsing around me.


I took it off the shelf cautiously. Then, while holding my breath, I carefully approached the cashier like walking a tight rope. I handed it to him. He fished it out of he box and put batteries inside.

“Gotta make sure this isn’t a defective one. Ever since they just started exploding inside women we’ve had to test them.”

I stood there completely still. Wide eyed. Processing. I knew these were words but the meaning escaped me. I didn’t know how to respond.

“Ah I’m just fuckin’ with ya.” he grinned.

Oh yes. A joke. “YES. HA! HA! HA!” I skillfully laughed like a grown-ass woman who does taxes and drives a car. He turned on the mini massagar and watched it dance around the counter for a moment or two before nodding in approval and selling it to me. I walked out feeling victorious. A noble young sex warrior.



A few months later I had my first unambiguous orgasm on the carpet of my bedroom floor in front of a mirror. I don’t know why, but for the first few years of my orgasmic life I masturbated in front of mirrors. It felt hot and really egotistical at the same time. I also masturbated a lot. I loved vibrators and became obsessed with buying different kinds, eventually committing to a hitachi magic wand. Ole faithful.


The boys I dated hated them. They felt threatened and wanted nothing to do with them in our sex life. One ex didn’t like that I masturbated at all, taking it as some kind of personal attack on his ability to satisfy me. After I took his virginity, he dramatically erased his entire porn stash, as he didn’t “need” it anymore. I think he always resented that I never displayed a similar testament.

I give them a pass. They were teenage boys, after all. But it did leave it’s impression on me. I never gave up vibrators, but it did take me well into my adult life to feel okay with bringing them back into coupled sex with without feeling like I was stepping into the field of land mines that was male fragility.


3 years later, I became a porn store clerk myself. I worked the morning shift of 24hr establishment, which meant it was slow as fuck. When there were no customers and nothing to do, I picked out a my favorite toy from the shelf, went to the bathroom, unwrapped and used it on myself. When I was done, I’d wash it thoroughly with toy cleaner, put it back in the box and returned it to the sales shelf.. It’d take all of 10 minutes. I contemplated buying the toy for myself at first, but soon realized it was better to have one available at work.

I remember the day a customer came in and bought it for themselves. It was a little sad. “Farewell, sweet prince.” I whispered as it walked out the greasy door.

These days since I work from home, I can masturbate whenever I want. Occasionally I try to reign it in. It makes me a little more interested in my actual sex life if I’m not constantly practicing my mini DJ set.  But when left to my own devices, I will get myself off up to 5-6x a day, and that’s not because I’m some insatiable trollop. When I really started paying attention to why I like to cum so much, I realized I often did it to help me sleep, to relieve stress, and to temporarily avoid my responsibilities. AKA:



In less than I week I will be leaving the country to travel for another couple months throughout Australia. As a result, I have been shooting videos like crazy so I’ll still have a steady stream of new content being released while I’m away. After burning through my list of customs, coming up with my own ideas has been a little mind numbing.

Earlier this month as I was walking around my neighborhood, a somewhat unique idea popped into my mind: I could shoot a video of me masturbating from the neck up.

I say “somewhat” unique, because I didn’t come up with this idea myself (there’s an entire website, beautifulagony.com, dedicated to this very concept) but it’s something I haven’t done before. Perhaps a little vanilla, but also fits within the “tease and denial” category. So, I wrote it down on my “to shoot” list.

So, get this. No lie a week later I received this email from a regular (Randy):



I’ve never received this request before, nor has any femdom POV producer shot anything like this (to my knowledge) This was just pure coincidence that this idea occurred to us around the same time.

I charged him $300. He has no idea that I was planning on making this video anyway. I can only imagine the jolt that’ll run through his cock when he reads this and finds out. (I’m laughing at you, Randy ^_^)

I filmed the clip after shooting 4 others. It was late in the evening, I was tired and ready to be done. The perfect clip to “finish off” with. I started off by showing what toys and fingers I’d be using, then cut to me lying on my beige tuft couch getting myself from beginning escalation, crescendo, and descent. It was satisfying, intimate and beautiful.

Randy emailed me again a few days later to say that he couldn’t explain why, but that he no longer wanted the clip (he didn’t ask for a refund.) A week later he admitted he was worried it would tarnish some kind of “professional” relationship he was hoping to someday establish with me (haha) but that he changed his mind and wanted to clip again.

This time, however, he was concerned I’d be faking it in the video.

I do a lot of pretending in my line of work, but I don’t think faking orgasms does anyone any favors. With exception to my “Phone Sex” video, I’ve never faked an orgasm and I don’t intend to start. I told Randy he could still have the clip, but that now he’d have to wait until it was released on clips4sale and buy it all over again. He said he felt as giddy as a fan girl.

Anyway, the clip was posted today. Enjoy.



His email:

I caught you on the Love + Radio podcast the other day and found you to be insightful and intelligent. Very refreshing.

I don’t mean to tell you your business, but I would be a bit careful as to how you treat some of your clients. I know it’s just for fun and a way to make a living, but some of the people who seek you need help. Professional help. And a humilatrix might get them off, but it also might just dig them deeper into their hole.

The vast majority of your clients are probably just horny and find you attractive and fun, but their are indeed troubled souls out there. And I know you don’t intend to make them more troubled. So please be careful. And stay hot.

My Response:

How do you propose I do that?

It would be easy to suggest my job is unethical if seeking out my services was purely a symptom of mental instability. But it isn’t. As you acknowledged, most of my clients are just horny and find me fun. Healthy people have fetishes, even ones related to deep humiliation. What people enjoy sexually does not give you any kind of predictive inference about who they are as a person.

However, given that there are a certain number of people in the general population that are mentally ill, it then follows that a certain percentage of my clients are mentally ill as well and, yes, perhaps my services are not beneficial to them given their current condition.

How am I to distinguish this sort of client from the rest? The only information they are giving me is what makes their dick hard.

What is my responsibility? At what point should override a grown man’s personal choices because I have a better understanding of what’s best for him? Should I run a psychological screening test to ensure each client is in the right state of mind to purchase my services? Request a letter from their doctor?

I do not want to harm anyone, but when someone tells me to “be careful” with no practical tools or advice as to how, all they are doing is instilling feelings of guilt and paranoia, suggesting I have an important yet unattainable moral obligation.

Many of my clients eroticize unethical behavior and personal destruction. They want me to behave like a sadist: to hurt them, fuck them over, leave them broke, destroy their life and not care about them in the slightest.

This could blur the lines of fantasy and reality until one realizes my clients have the power to end the fantasy at any point by turning off their computer. I do not chase them. I never make first contact or follow up. Every interaction with me begins with their initial approach, is contingent upon their payment, and ends when they stop sending money.


The Mystery Box Show

A while back I mentioned that I told a 5 minute story at a local storySlam hosted by theMoth. At that performance afterward I was invited by the host of the The Mystery Box Show to perform at their Valentine’s Day show. I decided to tell more or less the same story, after putting it through several revisions, stretching out, and editing it back again.

Being a person who’s used to “performing” in the privacy of her own room with nothing but a camera, being on stage with actual live bodies looking at me was rather nerve wracking. It caused me a lot of stress leading up to the show and made me ponder what secret masochistic tendencies must have convinced me put myself through this. Luckily by the time I stepped on stage I felt competent and good to go. I’m pretty pleased with the results.

I’ve grown a huge appreciation for live story telling this past year and I feel fortunate to have given my own contribution to the craft. Thank you to everyone who came out and supported me. For those who missed it, here’s the tape:

Love + Radio

A couple weeks ago I had the pleasure of being interviewed by one of my favorite podcasts: Love + Radio. The host, Nick, is currently residing outside the states so we conducted the interview over Skype and it was recorded in my basement by a peer of his in the podcast circuit.


I’m very excited to be a part of this. Love + Radio is a story-based podcast that I have been listening to regularly for the past year. We recorded just under 3 hours of audio, which will be edited down to about 30 minutes and paired with music to tell my story about working in the fetish world.

Nick has asked me to record some of my niteflirt phone conversations to use in the final piece. If you would like to be a part of this, you can access my special listing for it here:


I have reduced my usual rate down to $1.99/min to entice more customers to call. I will ask for consent to record the conversation at the beginning. If you do not wish to be recorded, you will be asked to call one of my normal listings.

I will be recording phone calls through this line Fri-Sun Feb. 20th-22nd. This podcast will be available to the public on iTunes. So if a little public humiliation is your thing, this is a pretty fantastic opportunity for you. Let your freak flag fly.

You’re welcome.


We don’t choose what we like.

Last week I received this email from a guy, we’ll call him Phil.

I’m so desperately horny and my head is all mushy. What would you ask for cam ASAP? I’ll pay it. My dick is hard and my wallet is open.

Phil has contacted me here and there for a few years now. He likes to eat his own cum and masturbate in ridiculous ways. He once sent me a video of himself fucking a jelly donut and another in which he lit a birthday candle in his urethra and let the wax drip down the shaft. Great guy. On this day Phil was requesting a 20-minute humiliating blackmail session involving TeamViewer (a program where I can access his desktop via my computer.) I hate TeamViewer and was not actively camming when I got his email, which meant if I decided to indulge him I’d have to stop what I was doing, put on make up, dress sexy and get in the mood. So, I charged him accordingly: $500. He promptly paid.

The moment I turned on my cam he offered his TeamViewer login credentials without hesitation or coaxing. I logged in and opened up his desktop. The first thing I saw was an open browser containing several tabs; each containing a different woman’s instagram page. He told me one was his ex girlfriend, another was a hot chick he knew in college, and the other was a friend he liked.

My mission was clear: to facilitate his orgasm by fabricating the thrilling scenario of being exposed to these women for the semen-slurping pastry fucker that he is. I made fun of him for giving up this information so easily, mocked his inadequacies and pretended as though I was drafting up an email to send to each of them right there, spilling every dirty secret I had against him.

In reality, I have no interest in contacting these women. They didn’t agree to participate in his jerk-off games and to drag them into it would be a violation. Furthermore, I know that the moment Phil cums the last thing he’ll want is exactly what he’s begging and paying me to do now. That’s the irony of so many sexual fantasies: that in which we fear or disgusts us the most is exactly what sets shooting into sexual climax. But unlike most fantasies, Phil’s desires potentially have real life consequences beyond the simple shame of sexual deviance. So my job is twofold: to make him believe I am going to ruin him without actually doing it. The sense of “realness” is essential.

Midway through the session Phil loses his erection and sighs in distress. He tells me he doesn’t really want me to expose him and that it’s just a fantasy.

Of course I know that. But these fantasies are tricky, especially when the client gives you real ammunition. I’m forced to juggle with two polarizing emotions and it’s not always predictable which one will come up and at what time. I tried splitting the difference as best I could: assuring him that I haven’t done anything, but in a mocking way that lets him know I think he’s a giant pussy and probably gay for losing his erection around me. He then tries to change the subject in an abrupt, random sort of way by talking about podcasts and how I look like Aubrey Plaza. I guess in attempt to take his mind off the situation, I don’t know. Eventually his time runs up and I turn the cam off.

A few minutes later he messages me again and offers $100 to “finish up.” I accept, he pays, and I turn on the cam again. By this time he’s managed to get himself hard again, but the cycle continues: I play the part he wants, but he quickly loses his erection out of nervousness, admits defeat and the cam time runs up before he can get himself off. All in all $600 well spent.

I attract a certain amount of criticism for accepting money from guys like Phil. I get accused of taking advantage of men despite the fact that I’m (ironically) a rather passive domme who doesn’t actively seek out or coerce anyone into doing anything. If you don’t want to give me money for any reason, I genuinely do not care: there are more than enough men who do. But I can’t deny that clearly some guys do struggle with their desires and have difficulty controlling them. Phil is probably one of those guys. Is it immoral of me to do business with him? If so, what course of action am I suppose to take to distinguish between customers who are genuinely going “too far” (as oppose to just the fantasy of going “too far”) and those who are grown men who can make their own decisions about what to do with their money and penis.

We don’t choose what we like. Whether it’s the gender we’re attracted to or the fetishes we acquire; our minds make it up without consulting us and without our permission. A great book that drives this point home is Perv by Jesse Bering. I highly recommend it. His thesis is that we shouldn’t be concerned as to whether our sexual proclivities are normal or natural and focus on whether or not they are actually harmful.

I don’t think fantasies are intrinsically harmful, including ones about being blackmailed and humiliated by women. Most of my customers do just fine buying videos centered around those fetishes and then going about their unaffected lives. Very few actually risk messing up their relationships with others, dabbling in sex-offender type (flasher) behavior, or spending beyond their means.What exactly separates these two types of customers is not clear to me, but I have my speculations:

Phil is fairly young and I suspect like with many of my younger (& more confused) clients, he thinks he has to get rid of his fetish to get rid of the harm that potentially accompanies it. But no amount of fighting, denying or ignoring it will make it go away. Like putting a lid on a boiling pot, it’ll eventually spill over and you’ll lose control of its contents. The best course of action is to take the lid off and attend to it periodically. Meaning, if you stop policing your thoughts and jerk off to them when you want to, you’re less likely to lose control over them.

Letting an attractive woman ruin your life in multiple ways is a great fantasy that I highly approve of. The best part is you need not make it a reality to enjoy it. Thoughts are just thoughts; it’s how we act on them that matters.


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.



Pussy 101

Every so often, depending on the time of the month and usually after I go for a run, I frost the inside of my panties. It’s a grotesquely fascinating and erotic sight I’ve witnessed since my early teens.


If you could be a fly in the wall of my bathroom it wouldn’t be an unusual to see me sitting on the toilet, panties wrapped around my knees, scrapping a thick layer of cream from underwear to study and play with it between my fingertips.

For whatever reason, as a teenager, I had an somewhat unusually healthy outlook on my pussy. While other girls buried themselves in self consciousness and private concerns of normality, I got great joy out of “educating” (e.g. needlessly shocking) boys I would never sleep with about what my pussy does.


There was a time I was sitting with a group of friends (boys and girls) at restaurant when I was about 15. I slipped my panties off from under the table and showed them the inside crotch to show them that girls get ‘wet’ even when they’re not aroused.

Another time during my junior year of high school I came out of the bathroom with thick fluid on my fingers so I could quiz my male friends on what it was. I then licked it off just as the look of horror and confused arousal reached their face when I told them. If they articulated any kind of disgust, I’d call them a fag.


Is it any surprise I started selling my panties online at 18? What better way to monetize my bodily functions? What better audience than panty sniffing perverts to validate the sick, eccentric thrill I got out of showing it off to men I’d never be intimate with? It’s truly the job I was meant for.


Those of you who follow me on twitter (@cearalynch) probably know I’m prone to posting images like these. The responses tend to fall on two ends of the spectrum; extreme arousal or extreme disgust. I totally understand and expect both. These responses go hand in hand with everything relating to sex and bodily fluids; some guys are going to find it insanely hot while other guys like a penis in their mouth.


Almost just as often, however, are guys who are completely confused. They have no idea what it is; confusing it for semen, suggesting I have an infection, or accusing me faking it with spit or lotion. For those men here’s a crash course on how the pussy works:

The vagina a self cleaning orifice. Discharge is a healthy sign that it’s doing job to clean and protect itself. Depending on the time of the month it will look thick and white (usually before menstruation), clear and stretchy (during ovulation), brownish/red (during menstruation) or clear and watery (anytime.)   Discharge can increase due to heavy exercise (true in my case), birth control, stress, or sexual arousal. Only if it is green, yellow, chunky and/or accompanied with an unusual odor, burning or itching should their be any concern for infection.

[For more information: http://www.healthline.com/symptom/vaginal-discharge]

I can see why a lot of men might get confused; if you don’t have a pussy or much experience with them, why wouldn’t you be? You don’t often see this in porn for the same reason you don’t see poop during anal; it all gets carefully cleaned out in advance. Certainly it does sometimes resemble hand lotion or saliva, but why would I use that if I have a well functioning vagina? Accusations like this do nothing more than showcase the accusers complete ignorance towards how pussy works.


Granted, my panties don’t always look like this, which is why I take pictures when they do. It actually varies quite a bit and is difficult to predict. As a result, the panties I auction on ebanned don’t always get this “filled” within the standard 48 hour wear. If you’re interested super wet, creamy panties frome me, your best course of action is to follow me twitter (@cearalynch) and email me (contact@cearalynch.com) as soon as you see me post a picture, be ready to pay $150-$200 for them right away and usually I can ship them to you same day.

Good luck!