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.






One man, One Girl, One Dildo

The more I do, this more certain I’m getting that the majority of heterosexual males want to be humiliated and dominated – except they’re too afraid to tell their actual sexual partners.

It’s weird how I can get such an insight into the perversions of the male mind. In a way, I find it kind of sad that society tells men that they’re not allowed to be submissive. I wholeheartedly believe that role-switching is the way forward.

And speaking of that, I just had an hour long conversation with a man from North America (he wouldn’t specifically tell me which part, but did discuss the geography of the USA for a while. It’s your money, man.)

So, after enlightening me that people from Minnesota have a weirdly Canadian accent, he began to ask me how old I was and when I first had sex, how many sexual partners I’d had, etc. I answered truthfully because I find it easier than lying. Knowing me, I’d slip up.

In his delightfully American accent, he coyly admitted one of his fantasies: he wanted a woman to make him swallow his own splooge. Not too out there, right? He seemed to think it was. I reassured him softly, then coaxed him to continue. While he stuttered out his next fantasy, I took a bite of the bacon sandwich next to me, smothered in HP sauce.

Sorry Dad.

He asked me if I was into ass-play, which I’m not. But I’m not going to tell him that. I told him that I enjoyed it occasionally, to which he responded approvingly. Great. He’s going to want me to fuck him up the ass.

Minutes later, we were in the throes of moans and dildos – well, the dildo-ing was on his part. He requested that I google a ‘Maia Astral D3’ – spoiler alert, it’s a  big ol’ dildo.

Now, I can honestly say that hearing a man slide a dildo up his ass and wince in pain isn’t particularly up my alley, but like a trooper, I took the role of El Dominato and chuckled haughtily down the phone, informing him that he wasn’t allowed to stop until I said so.

At the end of the call, he was forced into a chastity cage (it’s a cage for the peen) and I was fucking him up the butt with a strap-on. At our grandest moment, the call was cut short because he ran out of credits.

He was a cool guy.



Just your friendly neighbourhood Cuck.

My first ever call was a man who had a Cuckolding fetish. For those of you who don’t know what that is, a Cuckold likes to watch their partner have sex, or rather be fucked by another person. Generally, the Cuckold is a male who likes to watch their partner, generally a female, have sex with another man. The Cuckold cannot participate in the activity – simply watch.

I’ve never had an interest in that fetish, but I’m being paid for it, so I can’t really complain. It was a nice thing to begin with really. Being his third-time calling experience, we nervously stuttered out our names as directed by the automated voice telling us to introduce ourselves to one another. I found out that he was a Canadian-Lebanese who had a thing for being submissive. For confidentiality reasons, I won’t release a name or age.

He asked me how old I was and where I was from, to which I replied 18 and England. He asked me for my name – so I gave him my alias. I’ve found that using an alias can provide a buffer between the fantasy and the reality, which you can take comfort in sometimes – particularly in a bad call.

One thing I also learnt was this – you can’t fake it. If you’re not in the call, they can tell. Ergo, you can’t wash the dishes as you moan down the phone. In this case, we were in his room while I was being bent over the desk by another man…and so on.

All in all, it was a positive first experience and lasted for just over 17 minutes. Making a tidy £15, I was happy with that. Normally it’d take me over 2 hours of work in my everyday retail job to make that amount – and yet I was making that in minutes.

And at least I could do it in my pyjamas.

You can’t be slut in Islam.

You can’t be a slut in Islam.

That’s right. Premarital sex is a sin, and those who partake in this sort of behaviour are heathens headed for the fiery depths of Islamic hell.

And yet, here I am at 18 – a call-girl raised Islamically. Bend me over that Qur’an, Allah.

I suppose I shouldn’t incite religious controversy at this point – you’ve heard about the thing in London, right?

But here I am. I’m an Islamic princess and I’m ready to piss you off. One sin at a time.