Mommy Phone Sex isn’t just a fantasy, sweetie. It’s what happens when you keep getting your sticky little fingers exactly where they don’t belong.
I came home early from my luncheon, Louboutins clicking on the marble, and what did I find? My delicates drawer gaping open, my most expensive lace thong balled up on your bed. The black one. The one with the little pearl strand. Don’t you dare look away from me right now.
This isn’t the first time, is it? Remember when I caught you, nose buried in my worn satin panties from the hamper? You’d been wearing them too, hadn’t you? I saw the stretched lace, the telltale signs. I didn’t tell your father because I felt pity. But pity dries up, darling. And now? Now I’m just amused.
There’s a word for boys who steal their stepmother’s intimate things, who smell them, who perhaps… slip them on when no one’s watching. I think you know what I’m getting at. You’re practically prancing around in my lingerie when I’m at the spa, aren’t you? Little sissy boy, playing dress-up in Felicity’s finery.
You think these small, revealing things I wear are an invitation? They’re for men, sweetie. Powerful, dominant men who know what to do with a woman like me. Men who make me dripping wet without even trying. You? You’re still figuring out which way the garter clips go.
But I understand you. Better than your father ever could. I see that needy, submissive thing squirming inside you. And I know exactly how to handle it.
So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to pick up that phone and call me for a proper motherly chat. Step-Mommy’s discipline line is open, and your allowance will fund my next shopping spree. Let’s discuss your punishment in excruciating detail. Call now!
1-877-202-3315
