Daddy kinks aren’t just for Tumblr

Before I begin, I’d just like to address some of the emails I’ve been receiving about this blog.

  • Yes, it’s real. Why would I bullshit? It’s really easy to become a phone sex worker. You can start it on the same day you apply.
  • Yes, I was raised Islamically. And yes, my family would disown me if they knew.
  • No, I don’t care if it offends you. Get off my blog if you don’t want to read it.
  • No, I don’t do cam stuff or escorting. Why would I show myself?

Okay, I’m glad we got that covered.

Creeps in Connecticut

A couple of weeks ago, I was bidding on the website I use to feature my listing. It’s a great way of attracting new customers – and if you’re good, they can become regulars. I have a few. Not bragging or anything. Well, maybe a little bit.

Normally I receive a message before I get called – it’s a good way of introducing yourselves and makes it a little less terrifying than calling a stranger with no prior communication. This time, I didn’t. I was about to log off because it was getting pretty late, but I couldn’t pass up some extra cash.

I answered the phone and was met with a strangely attractive voice. If I was to describe it, it was a single-malt whiskey poured over a piece of ice. Potent, sophisticated, aged. I could tell immediately that the man I was speaking to was significantly older than myself.

I found out that he was a 55 year old man living in Connecticut. Like a lot of my customers, he was married with kids. Ironically, if I was his daughter, I would’ve been the middle child. He seemed to like my age though – there’s something about a young girl that guys go nuts over. By young, I do mean of legal age.

After our initial introductions to one another, he asked me what I into. I responded with ‘try me.’ The reason I said this is because I don’t like to limit myself. Obviously I do have my limits – paedophilia and bestiality are the main ones. Other than that, I can handle a lot of things. I’m pretty open sexually.

He told me that he wanted to role-play with me. This opened a door of possibilities, both good and bad.

In this case, he wanted me to role-play as his bratty daughter. It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve heard, and I have a bit of a Daddy-kink myself. It’s not that I want to screw my Dad or anything, I just like older guys who provide a sense of authority and protectiveness.

But here’s where it got weird. He wanted to pretend that I didn’t want it. I stiffened for a second because one of the policies on the site I work for is that you can’t discuss rape fantasies, in any form. But since they can’t listen in to calls, why the hell not?

Here’s a snippet of the dialogue that followed. I can’t reveal his name for confidentiality purposes, so let’s call him D.

In this scenario, I’m sat in my bedroom applying make up. I’m getting ready for a date with my boyfriend.

D: Hey baby, where you off to tonight?

Me: Hey Dad, I’m going to the pizza place with Jordan.

D: Well you look lovely. Are you going anywhere afterwards?

Me: Maybe. I don’t have a lot of money so I don’t know.

D: What happened to the $500 I gave you last week?

Me: I obviously spent it, Daddy. Fashion doesn’t pay for itself.

D: So I take it you’re going to dip into my wallet then, baby?

Me: Please.

D: I suppose we could work out an arrangement…of some sort? *sexual sigh*

Me: Like what?

D: How about this. I’ll give you $200 for tonight if you do something for me.

I look up and stare at him.

D: I want you to make me feel good, baby.

Me: No…that’s so wrong.

D: You want the money, right?

***

You get the jist. Financial persuasion and incest fantasies. Everything a growing girl needs. Or a sexually frustrated American, as it happens.

I did find it weird that he had daughters in real life. There’s no point speculating about what goes on in their household, though.

Oh wait, he did admit he sniffed his daughters panties and never told anyone. Excuse me while I spew up over my laptop.

Thanks for reading!

Shout out to Sydney…

I hope you learn not to eat half-frozen cheesecake.

 

 

 

 

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