Won’t You Be My Footman?


A man I once dated told me about a new neighbor he fancied. Not only was she a pretty, long-haired strawberry blonde with full breasts and a nice, round tushy, but she was friendly and approachable—easy to get to know. Her conversations with him were pleasantly teasing and flirtatious, and he felt he had a good chance to land in bed with her.

In the wintertime, she always wore a black faux-fur overcoat that complemented her shapely dimensions, matching it with a pair of brown leather knee-high boots with heels. The boots were shiny and sexily caressed her slim legs. One day, while they were chatting in her driveway, he said he liked her boots. “Thank you,” she answered, sweetly. “A girl has to have nice footwear.” Then she leaned back against the trunk of her dark-colored BMW, arching her back seductively and extending her boot-clad legs one at a time.

Her movements, especially those of her lower extremities, sent a thrill up his spine and strong signals to his cock, which shot up hard so fast he thought he heard the sound of a whip cracking, though it was only in his fevered imagination. He was wearing sweatpants without underwear, so he knew she could see his bulge. He clumsily tried to conceal it by turning slightly to the side but doing so only exposed more of his lance. He was embarrassed but also wildly excited. He made a quick and obvious excuse about having “something to do,” and quickly returned to his residence.

As soon as he closed his front door, his rapidly beating heart and quickened breathing—and the rock-hard tool in his pants—told him all he needed to know: His sexy neighbor, especially her boots, had set the sex-center of his brain on max, and he leaned against the wall of his foyer, threw down his sweatpants, and grabbed his raging cock in his right hand.

He tried to start his jacking motions off at a slow pace, to savor the feeling she aroused in him, but his hand began stroking faster and faster as he rose to a furious, spouting climax that shot cum against the opposite wall. His only regret, as he sagged, exhausted, almost tripping over the sweatpants gathered at his ankles, was that his spume hadn’t been splattered on her boots.

Oh, my God, he realized. I’m a foot fetishist—and I love it!

Women’s bodies, as men and bisexual or gay women all know, have been equipped with a cornucopia of erotic zones and parts. In fact, across the wondrous landscape of the female form, there is no place that cannot be eroticized. None. Nature formed us that way in far ancient times to attract male mates, who would offer food and protection and, of course, generous hot beef injections of caveman cock. (We girls hear the echo of those primitive times when men grunt and gibber like apes as they pump our pussies full of cum.)

Some men are known for favoring certain areas; you can call a guy an “ass man” or a “breast man,” but men who sexually crave and fantasize about women’s feet and legs are a special subculture of fetishists. They’re highly imaginative and can think of so many ways to derive extreme sexual joy from the delicate toes, the smooth soles, the well-trimmed toenails, the elegant arches, and the well-turned ankles of women’s feet. For this fetish, size really doesn’t matter; small and large feet are both favored.

Foot fetishism was probably at its height during the Victorian Age, a time of public shame about sexual expression but hypersexual activities in private. (For example, in one major city, there reportedly was a brothel that for women only. Very privileged women, who would be brought inside via a hidden private entrance. Instead of the traditional lineup, in which the sex workers parade themselves before clients who select the girl or girls they favor, the women would be guided upstairs to a bedroom kept in total darkness to mask the woman’s identity from the male sex worker who would service her needs. Their encounter would take place in total silence so that even the woman’s voice, which might be well-known if she was socially prominent, would remain secret.)

 The moral repressiveness of the period has been attributed to Queen Victoria’s alleged sexual conservatism, but the true culprit for the priggishness of the time was her stern husband, the German-born Prince Albert. Her views about sex are unknown, but as a feisty and spirted young wife, she had eight children with her beloved husband, so he certainly aroused her passions.

Embarrassment about sexual matters grew to be ridiculous. The term “legs” became almost a dirty word because legs (usually, just the bare ankles, which became highly erotically charged in the male imagination) were all that men got to see of women’s bodies, covered, even in humid summers, by layers of clothing, unless they frequented brothels, were married, or were fortunate enough to find adventurous, artistic, rebellious feminist lovers. Even the legs of pianos were cloaked in lace because looking at those lifeless wooden supports might tempt a young man into lustful thoughts!

You can well imagine how much sexual curiosity was provoked by all this “no-no” advice: lots. During the 19th century, women of means wore calf-length dress shoes with many buttons winding all the way up. It could take two to three minutes to button up—or unbutton—that elegant footwear, so flattering to a woman’s feet and legs.

A man in the company of an experienced period courtesan—or lucky enough to have a passionate lover in the everyday world—could sit comfortably in a chair, languidly puffing on a cigar while his lady friend stripped down to her high-button shoes, then took her sweet time seductively unfastening each button of a shoe before slipping it off, slowly, revealing a naked foot. The gentleman of leisure would rise to his feet, remove his clothing, fold them neatly, and turn to face her with a stiff rod saluting her beauty.

But instead of gripping his rod with her hand or taking it into her mouth or pussy, she would apply cream to her toes and feet, then reach with her legs until her toes wrapped themselves around his shaft, caressing it gently and skillfully, “playing” it like a snake charmer until the “snake” spit out its white goo all along the lady’s feet and legs.

History shows that forbidden things become more and more attractive over time. Pretty soon cowgirl boots, riding boots, hiking boots, slippers, ballet shoes, stockings, socks, sneakers, and even pantyhose would join the assortment of costumes favored by foot lovers. As dresses began to shorten in the early 20th century, exposing more of the legs, foot men rejoiced. Now they would have a clear route to the delicious vagina, their journey beginning at a lady’s big toe and traveling on up her leg until they met her oval of delight.

If you’d like to schedule a meeting, be sure to ask me to show you how you can give me an orgasm just by massaging the ball of my foot. It may be an unusual way to begin foreplay for you, but everyone can benefit from learning new sexual skills. You can quote me on that! Contact me at [email protected] 

Olivia Green

Hello there…I’m Olivia Green, the girl next door from Nantucket, Massachusetts. (You probably know the limerick ; ) I’m a down to earth lady who drinks with her pinky extended LOL. I may look innocent, but I have a sexy wild streak. Call me classy, flirty, and dirty… Whether it be a GFE or a PSE experience that you’re looking for, I will make you forget the outside world exists in my cozy comfy room…Let me pamper you. I suck at playing pool but if you can laugh with me over a drink, we could have so much fun! I love music…Everything from electronic dance music to classic rock, and even some metal. I like any beat that makes my body move! I love exploring your fetishes. There’s nothing we can’t talk about in the privacy of my room. I’m a squirter, and I absolutely adore couples. Two girl parties, two gentlemen parties…The possibilities are endless! I’m a trained pastry chef, so I can bake you something after we party all night! Apple Crisp anyone? I have the ultimate respect for the men and women that are active duty and retired military, and I always offer them a discount : ) Contact me today at [email protected] and let’s plan a sexual adventure together!

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

Let’s Replay Your Favorite Porn or Movie Scene

Everyone has favorite mainstream movies like Rocky or Working Girl or Titanic. (Maybe someday some adventurous director will make a movie about us called Legal Sex-Workers). No matter how many times you watch and re-watch your faves, you never get tired of them; there’s always some new feature or detail to spot. Maybe you like them because they remind you of special times when you were young, or holiday memories, or star an actor or actress who’s always been a secret crush of yours.

Smart boyfriends and husbands know that just seeing and hearing a certain film star on screen will get their lady randy and ready to rock and roll. And hey, if she calls out a male celebrity’s name while she’s climaxing, a quick-thinking guy won’t get jealous. He’ll play along with the fantasy because it’s his cock, not the famous guy’s, getting gripped and ridden by his doll’s eager beaver.

As you can see, you can employ mainstream Hollywood films to charge up your lover’s sexual imagination so much she’ll wrap her legs around your back and pump your penis into her honeypot so vigorously that you hardly have to move, just wait for the best time to groan loudly and spurt deeply into her.

But what about her—or with a couple—their favorite fuck scenes from the world of porn? There’s as much variety in porn today as there used to be mainstream entertainment. But that’s its appeal. Every audience—fetishists, swingers, any kind of sexual adventurer (or would-be orgiast) can find satisfaction across the pantheon of video porn.

Innumerable couples like to prep for sex by rerunning their favorite real-sex scenes. One longtime fave is Motel 69 Star, a several-episode series of amateur sex scenes between a really sweet-faced brunette and her unknown male lover (you never see his face), which is also known as “The Girl in the Green Sweater.”

That’s all she’s wearing in the best-known scene of the series, which she plays a secretary getting fucked doggie-style over her desk. The genius of the scene is that that sexual delight is conveyed mainly in her facial expressions as the guy plunges deep into her pussy, and in her body language too. Her back arches as she receives his dick, then her face whips through numerous shades of joy as the guy shifts position and fucks her expertly: her head whips around in ecstasy, her hands slap the desktop as her cocksman goes into a rocking back-and-forth, up-and-down rhythm that makes her cum, then suddenly pulls out. We then see his stiff cock poke in from her left, and she grabs it with her mouth and sucks him dry. All of this takes place within only two minutes’ worth of screen time—probably the hottest time interval you’ll see in many a year.

Another series, this time from Europe, is called Drunk Sex Orgy. In each segment, which can last an hour or more, a cast of hundreds of horny people appear before the camera’s ever-sweeping gaze, coupling and uncoupling and recoupling as trance music plays—a perfect soundtrack for the varieties of sexual contact taking place, shifting dreamily from one passionate fucking or sucking or pussy-licking or –fingering to another. Viewers can almost get dizzy from the circular, ever-undulating, fast-thrusting actions of the participants. It’s a sexual phantasmagoria.

We raunchy ranch ladies love to role-play, so why not re-create your favorite sex scenes with us? We can do a girl-boy, two-girls-and-a-boy, or a threesome with you and your girlfriend, wife, or whomever. A big cast can lead to lots of dramatic and sexual situations. Or, we can do a more intimate encounter. Anything you’d like.

Let me pitch you an idea: A guy sees a girl sitting at a table sipping a wine cooler. She’s gorgeous, striking, smiling, friendly—the kind of astonishingly beautiful girl you could never get in high school—or in college, for that matter. Ever watch a porn where a nerd meets a beauty and, improbably, gets laid like mad because she finds him charming and cute? Ever wanted to play the guy in that scene? Just ask and you will receive, as the book says. We will make your wet dream come to life. Together. I will suck you, gently or roughly, after I’ve fitted you with a condom of a color of your choice. And I will fuck you, like a princess or a whore, whatever character you like. Maybe I can be your sexy angel—or devil?

That’s what adult movies are about, dreams dramatized, played out by actors, and followed by camerawork directed by someone who knows how to keep the sex close, graphic, forbidden, and explicitly erotic.

People taking acting classes for the first time sometimes find themselves growing excited when they do an acting exercise called “mirroring,” which, like it sounds, matches two actors up so they can imitate precisely their partner’s motions and expressions. It’s meant to teach aspiring thespians how to improvise, which involves saying “yes” with your body and your emotions so that your performance with a fellow actor dovetails with what he or she is doing and increases the theatricality.

Let me pitch you another idea: Let’s improvise—let’s invent, move by move, word by word, our loving time together. I’ll grab something from the closet in my room—whatever comes to hand, to make it a surprise for both of us. Maybe I’ll snatch a negligée off the rack, change clothes to put it on, and we can play two people who accidentally meet in a college dorm hallway while the guy searches for a party taking place somewhere in the building. I’ll be the horny girl student in her sleepwear who encounters the guy, entices him into their room, and they make their own sex party.


Bring your Go-Pro or camera phone to our appointment and we can make a video memento of our meeting. If you’d like, I can talk dirty to the camera, describing all the sexy things we’re doing as you play and replay our date at home, closing your eyes and savoring the sweetness and warmth of our meeting. And don’t forget, just like porn videos have multiple chapters, you’re always welcome to return to make Part 2, 3, 4, and so on with me. Yes, it’s true what you’ve always heard about us courtesans—we really love it when you return and cum again with us!


Contact me directly [email protected] or come in to the Sagebrush Ranch!





Misty Lane

Hi there, Im Misty Lane. Thanks so much for taking the time to stop by my page to learn more about me! I am one of the newest elite courtesans here at Sagebrush Ranch. The first thing you will notice about me are my long, long legs which are always accented by a great pair of heels. I am 5’8″ with a slim frame, blonde hair and big blue eyes. My fun, bubbly, sarcastic personality is something I’m known for. Life is too short to be serious all the time! I currently live in the Midwest but will be spending the first two weeks of each month here at Sagebrush. In my free time I love to be outdoors doing pretty much anything. Boating, riding quads, fishing, skiing and attending concerts are just some of my favorites. A night out for dinner and dancing or sitting by a cozy fire cuddling are also things I really enjoy. I pride myself in being a truly genuine person. I am naturally affectionate and couldn’t be fake if my life depended on it. With me what you see is what you get and I like to think I’m a really cool chick 🙂 I will listen and talk with you about anything and make you feel at ease. Please feel free to email me at [email protected] or strike up a conversation with me over chat. Let’s get to know one another. Tell me your fantasies and desires, I will make them come true!

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

Black is Beautiful, and I Will Show You Why

There’s an old saying: “Once you go black, you never go back.” It’s become a cliché that refers to the supposed transformative sexual powers of black women (to say a mouthful), or, more plainly, that fucking a black woman gonna whip your head around so you’re seeing backwards, and you will never want to sleep with any woman of any other race ever again. Well, it can be true, sometimes: Some black women (like me) are so damn good at making love, at taking charge of the mood, at knowing what erotic suggestions to whisper in your ear at just the right time, when to gently nip your neck, and then suddenly pull back and fasten their soft lips on your mouth for a deep soul kiss. They know when to lay you back, deftly slide a condom over your penis, suck you stiff, crawl atop you, slide their soft, giving pussies slowly along the full length of your stiff cock, then reach down, point your pal northward, and guide him as he slithers up deep inside.

Ooooh! I’ve done things like that with my clients, and remembering that first rush of sensation when a man’s cock penetrates me deeply for the first time always gives me something I like to call the “quivic vivors.” The words came to be in an erotic dream. Though I can’t figure what they mean, they somehow seem to describe the feeling of the sex shivers that travel up my spine when I get a cock inside me. It also sounds like a hot hip-hop lyric: “Man gives me the quivic vivors, ya see / He gets me deep down, completely excites me!”

It’s not only black women who can do something really good like that to a man, but any woman who knows how to use her body, who really loves watching a man’s best friend slowly stand to attention as he studies her appearance lustily, as she lets herself be adored.

But we black women have gained quite a legend over thousands of years. Men look at us and they see the long centuries of living, sometimes hard living, in our dark eyes. We go all the way back to Africa, where humans first evolved, even to the era of the ancient empire of Egypt. Men see our strength and survivability and are attracted to us. During the 1960s, there was a movement that promoted the idea that Black is Beautiful. Can you imagine that anyone ever needed to state the obvious? We black women are all kinds of beautiful. Keith Richards of The Rolling Stones, in his memoir, Life, notes that when he first toured the U.S., he got the chance to sleep with several black women and treasured how sweet and passionate they were. Well, we do love life, and the good life involves lots of good, refreshing sex. And we love masculine men. (And Keith’s bandmate, Sir Mick Jagger, has a daughter, Karis, with the black model Marsha Hunt. He has eight children. But he’ll have to go quite a way to catch up with the legendary Ray Charles, who had 12 kids with 10 women.)

Men of all races and cultures seek out black women because we possess a real sexual firepower, with balls-to-the-wall spirit, lots of pride, and lots of stamina. We are very confident, strong women, we are Aretha Franklin, we are Beyoncé, we are Alicia Keys, we are Tina Turner, we are Toni Braxton, we are Diana Ross, Mary J. Blige, and any other powerful woman of color you can think of, because, baby, these days, we are everywhere making things happen.

Prominent white men have learned the allure of black women: the Oscar-winning actor Robert DeNiro has been married to black women all his life: Diahnne Abbott, his first wife, and Grace Hightower, his current wife. Chris Noth, the former Law and Order homicide detective who played the sexy Mr. Big in Sex And The City, is married to the black actor Tara Wilson. The late, great David Bowie had a long and happy marriage to the remarkably beautiful model, actor, author, and humanitarian Iman, who was born in Somalia. And of course, one of the best-known interracial couples is New York City’s Mayor Bill de Blasio and Chirlane McCray.

I’ve had a lot of men as lovers for whom I’m the first black woman with whom they’ve ever made love. They’ve come to me, and cum in me (inside the condoms I provide) believing all sorts of silly stuff about sex with black women. They think I’m gonna boss them around like some stereotypical “ho” from a gangsta movie, that I’ll get up in their faces, put my hands all over them, not be demure like they expect from a white girl, that I’ll take a knee in front of them and with both hands, just tear down their jeans and underwear without unbuckling the belt, see their dick hardening up, whip a condom pack out of my pocket, tear it open, and apply the rubber with my mouth, my eyes wild, my lips eager and hungry, and suck them fast with both hands until the tension builds and builds and the guy, whipping his head around, pumps that condom full of white lightning and falls back in a chair, exhausted.

I guess that’s the Angry Black Woman stereotype—overwhelming, combative, loud, tough as nails. But that’s silly, because women of all races, class, or culture can attack a cocksucking session with gusto, controlling a man’s pleasure and getting him to blow a huge load of sticky relief inside that rubber in her hungry mouth. I’m not angry myself; I’m a sweet and welcoming lady with a beautiful caramel-brown face and body and kind eyes. I’m not looking to play the imperious black diva. I’d rather make us a delicious gourmet dinner, enjoy some wine by candlelight, dance to soft music after eating, hug you close, let you feel the soft curves of my body under my clothes while you imagine me naked, and slowly maneuver you over to my bed, kiss you luxuriously, then let you undress me, piece by piece, down to my heels. (I can keep them on in bed if you’d like.)

But maybe a black diva is what you want, so, yes, I can play that role. In African culture, many women have earned a certain dominance. They’re African Queens, and every man has fantasized about sleeping with a queen. If you are the lover of the queen, it’s like you’re sleeping with the representative of every beautiful woman in the country the queen rules. I can play the monarch as she arrives home to you, her consort, after a hard day of arbitrating disputes and issuing judgments. I’m exhausted, and I need some TLC. You help me out of my dress suit and headdress until I am naked. Am I not black and comely, my love?

You run the shower, and we step into the warm, misty spray while you slip on latex gloves into which you pour liquid soap. Then I hold onto a wall railing while you bathe me all over, soaping up my breasts from behind and pinching the nipples until I gasp with royal pleasure, parting my legs to you. Your soapy gloved fingers teasingly snake their way into my puffy pink vagina—one, two, then three, as thick as a cock—and you finger-fuck me as my insides lengthen and moisten, ready to receive your Johnson.

I turn around, reach for a condom dispenser I keep on a handy shower shelf, and select one that’s clear with a purple hue (purple is a royal color), unwrap it, and unroll it over the head and shaft of your by-now rigid member, turn around, grab that railing, bend slightly forward, and say, “I command you to enter your Queen and ride her to climax! Make your thrusts steady and ardent until you feel your Queen cum. You may shoot as soon as I enjoy my climax.” (And with this queen you’ll shoot buckets.)

It’s good to be the queen! If you’ve never experienced sex with a black woman, or you’ve had lots of multiracial sex, it doesn’t matter. Like all other ladies of color, I am just another unique human being. If you believe ladies of color have special powers, enjoy your fantasy, it will add to our fun. I love the warm company of a good man of any race, and I’m as affectionate, creative, sweet, sociable, and kind as any woman on the planet. Beneath the skin, we’re all human beings, and we come—and cum—in all colors and shades.


Contact me at R[email protected], and let me expand your horizons.

Remy Martin

Charming and beautiful, Remy Martin from Dennis Hof's BunnyRanch is the loyal, respectful, and highly erotic woman of your fantasies. Remy adores traveling, sailing, swimming, dancing, and cooking -- let her fix you something succulent to eat during your time together.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

Keep Calm and Tell Me All Your Secret Sex Thoughts

People keep a lot of secrets to themselves. Sometimes the secrets run deep in their psyches, and they come to professional sex workers like me for help in expressing their “forbidden” erotic fantasies, because you can ask a courtesan for almost anything a horny mind can imagine. That’s why we’re here. Ordinary people just aren’t as experienced, skilled, adventurous, and nonjudgmental as we are.

One of the areas where I excel is in fulfilling my male clients’ fantasies through role-playing. I recently had an encounter with a young man I’ll call Randy, who presented me with an unusual request: He wanted me to employ all my feminine powers of persuasion not just to act out his sex dream, but to first discover the secret he was hiding. I didn’t know what we would ultimately do once I got him to reveal himself, but I appreciated the challenge. It turned me on.

I look good in high-fashion outfits, so I thought I’d dress myself up as the kind of mysterious, alluring female characters that you find in James Bond films. I’ve always liked the fact that Bond Girls are most often not only beautiful, but capable of matching wits with James himself or one of the many villains he faces. (Often, they save 007’s ass from death at the last minute.) Before I began, I opened my dress blouse several buttons down to show some cleavage, and dabbed a bit of scent between my breasts.

I set up a chair in the middle of my room, and ordered Randy to take a seat. I bent down, took him by the chin, and looked mock-sternly into his blue eyes. “This is an interrogation, my young man,” I said, with a forcefulness that surprised even me; I even threw in a kind of foreign accent of my own invention. “I will find out everything inside that handsome head of yours.” I leaned down next to his ear, and whispered, “One way or another,” then flicked my tongue against his earlobe teasingly. He shivered with excitement. I had his undivided attention.

I straightened up, opened my legs, and straddled Randy, settling my soft pussy mound right on his crotch. I felt him grow hard against my body—but I wasn’t ready to admit him to my holiest of holies yet. I rocked my body gently, rubbing myself against him slowly, enjoying our mutual body warmth. I haven’t had a dry hump since I was a teenager, but rubbing my coochie on his cockshaft through our clothing was unexpectedly thrilling. I even gave myself a quick, sharp climax, and had to slow down or I would have soaked my panty and pants with my pussy juice. As for Randy, he was stiff as a power pole.

As I continued doing the rocking-horse thing on Randy’s cock, I took his face

into my hands, drew his mouth to mine and kissed him ardently, holding the

kiss just long enough that when I broke contact, he was breathless. “If you tell

me the truth,” I said, “there will be many more kisses like that. What do you

have to say?”

“I can’t,” he answered, his voice breaking. “I’m too ashamed. And embarrassed. I just can’t tell anyone.” He looked as if he might burst into tears.

“I have seen much of this world, my friend,” I assured him. “Nothing surprises me. I have met many men, and I am here with you now.” I hugged his face into my chest, welcoming him into intimacy. His hot breath was making my nipples hard in my bra. I sensed that it was time to push for his full confession.

“Never fear, my love,” I cooed. “Whatever you have to tell me will never leave this room. You can trust me.”

“I haven’t had sex for two whole years!” he blurted suddenly. “Tons of girls have turned me down! What is wrong with me? I feel so… unmanly.”


I felt a rush of sympathy for him, and took a few seconds to search for comforting words to say to him. “Those girls didn’t know what they were missing. Do you like girls?” I asked quietly.

“I love girls so much,” he said. “The last girl I had sex with was so friendly and affectionate, and she just loved to fuck. Most girls scream when they climax. She would laugh, this big, sexy, womanly laugh,” he explained.

“What happened?” I asked.

“She had to transfer to a college in another state to get her nursing degree. We lost touch…” his voice trailed off sadly.

“Then you need to get back in touch,” I answered immediately. “Let me help.” I slowly dismounted from his lap, and knelt down next to the chair. “I am going to touch you, a little at a time, bit by bit, because you haven’t been touched in a long time.” (I also thought that unless I took special care taking his cock out of his pants that after two years’ frustration, it might go off like a fountain. I wanted to save that pleasure for him later.)

I pulled open his belt, unbuttoned the top of his pants, and, very slowly, drew down the zipper. He was wearing boxer shorts underneath, so it was easy to reach in through the front opening and extract his stunningly erect penis. It really was beautiful (and I see my share of male organs in my work). It had an elegant head, like something on a Greek statue, with a long, healthily veined shaft. I wondered which stupid girls had refused to suck and fuck this outstanding specimen of manhood?

I tore open a condom package, took out a clear rubber, and rolled it down the full length of Randy’s rod. I was about to give him a good, hard sucking, and I wanted to see that pretty dick of his through the latex material.

But first, I held his hard-on in my hand, squeezing it, massaging it, and admiring it. Looking up, I saw Randy crying with joy. Making people happy is the best part of my job.

And nothing makes a man happy like a playful, messy blowjob. I grasped his cock, which he was thrusting toward me hungrily, and slipped almost all of it into my mouth. I nursed at it; I grabbed it and took long, tight sucks, making a popping sound when it left my mouth, then fastening on it strongly again. After more than two years of waiting, I expected him to pump the condom in my mouth full of cum. But he didn’t, though he was moaning and fucking my mouth desperately. I appreciated his control, and decided that it was time to remount him, but this time, sans my dress jeans and panty.

I squirted some lube on the part of the condom fitting around the head of his dick, stood up, dropped my jeans and my panty, threw a leg over his body, aimed his cock at my vagina, and sat down firmly. “Whoop!” I uttered, feeling his formerly frustrated manhood penetrate me deeply.

There was no doubt about one important fact: Even after two years of enforced celibacy, Randy still knew how to fuck. I bounced on him, and he caught me with strong upthrusts as I rose up. We were rockin’ in rhythm. Eventually, we settled into a no-space-between-us method where the base of his cock stroked my clit as we rode back and forth. I squeezed him back with my pussy muscles, which are really responsive.

Just before we came together, we fell into a kind of trance that happens when two people fucking lose track of everything but the sensations their bodies are feeding them. The sexual tension was building up like mad. He was making the monkey face and I was making the cat face as we approached the end zone. Then we were grinding our genitalia together, uttering senseless words, laughing, howling, groaning, and finally, collapsed. My pussy was throbbing. I climbed off Randy, and saw that his condom was filled to be brim, as they say.

“That was some powerful secret you were living with,” I said to him afterwards. “But I hope I’ve helped you bring it out into the open, and relieve your distress.” Randy just smiled, but I knew I had made a new fuck-buddy.

If you’ve been working too hard and doing without sex, I’m here for you. If you’re getting enough sex but need an erotic tune-up, I’m here for you, too. If you’ve been contemplating a fantasy but have never realized it, my pussy is willing co-star with your cock in the hottest sexual drama you can imagine. Like any Bond Girl, I’m beautiful, sexy, smart, resourceful and versatile in bed. Contact me and let’s plan an erotic mission together!

Zoey Cherry

Hey baby, I’m Zoey Cherry. I’m an energetic and easygoing young lady. Working in a place like sagebrush is something I have always wanted to do and I am finally able to live my fantasy.I can’t wait to help you fulfill yours.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

My Overnight Callers Are Treated to Breakfast Next Morning On Me—And I Mean Literally—On Me

There’s a special service I provide to the gentlemen who spend the night with me. The next morning, I make them a sumptuous breakfast. Waking up to a beautiful woman making you a good meal is always a good thing, but it’s my method of presentation that makes the experience special.

I don’t serve the food on a regular table. I serve it on my naked body. Before you wake up, I will have showered and lightly powdered and scented my body because I’m a classy lady whose chief desire is to fill your nostrils with sensual joy. Men love it when a woman makes herself so elegant for them.

I will have these foodie delights waiting for you on a rolling cart next to the bed: pancakes precut into triangular sections, pats of soft butter, a pouring container of maple syrup; and a selection of fresh and colorful fruits: strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, dried apricots, green, black, and red grapes, cherries, and banana. (I usually leave out prunes because they’re a little too sticky, and frankly, not as aesthetically pleasing to look at.) It’s up to you to decide how you would like to arrange all these lovely delectables on my body. Make me your live model of culinary art. (When you’re finished placing all the pieces of your creation, I have a digital camera and printer you can use to record and print out a visual memento of my food-decorated body that you can take home. Or, bring your own camera to shoot a photo.)

Delectible Cherry Lane from Dennis Hof’s Love Ranch near Reno, Nevada

For example, you could lay out the pancake slices in an exciting pattern around the mounds of my breasts, the points pointing at my uncovered nipples. That warm syrup can be tastefully drippled on the flapjack slices, which will make me feel so comfortable and sexy.

Some of my clients ask to slice up the pancakes into shapes of their own design. One man very creatively shaped the pancakes so they looked like the cups of a lacy brassiere, with some fringing at the bottoms. Another fashioned the flapjacks into smiley faces on my breasts, with my nipples being the noses. I thought it was rather sweet. Where we’re little, adults tell us not to play with our food, but when we become adults ourselves, we can do anything we want!

And now for the fruit platter. This time, for a maximum mixture of sensuality and vivid, bright colors, you could carefully position the sweet stuff all over my reclining body. Make me your living garden of fruit. I can lie still and level for long periods of time, so, for example, the green, black, and red grapes won’t roll off onto the carpet. One playful fellow used the grapes like marbles, and my stomach as the playing field. He’d flick one grape at another, and any that rolled out of the circle he deftly caught and ate until all the grapes were gone.

Considering the time and attention they pay to fashioning their edible “compositions,” sometimes I think my clients have artistic aspirations. Of course, away from the LoveRanch, a man could make a painting or drawing of a nude woman covered in fruit—and many have, of course—but isn’t it so much more fun to practice on a live nude model like me?

Here’s an idea that appeals to my love of colorful foods: Make a “belt” across my tummy with some strawberries sliced in half, matched with a “buckle” of blueberries arranged in a circle around my belly button. And here’s a variation: Because strawberries and bananas go so well together, the fruit belt could feature alternate placings of strawbs and banana slices. Or, you could slice a banana right down the middle, and position the halves under my breasts for a push-up bra effect.

Let’s not forget our raspberries and dried apricots. One client with a military background gently balanced the raspberries upside-down on the dried apricots, which he had lined up in neat rows on my rib cage, like soldiers awaiting a general’s inspection. After he finished setting up “the troops,” he stood up, placed his hands behind his back, and then walked around the bed, making serious faces as if he was a superior officer appraising the neatness of the lower ranks. When he completed his “inspection,” he ate each raspberry-and-apricot combination with great seriousness, saying things like “Thank you for your service” and “I’m proud of such fine fighting men!” I have such imaginative clients!

One of the nicest things a guy every did for me was to take a bowl of black cherries from the bedside cart and spell out C-H-E-R-R-Y L-A-N-E with them. And then he ate every cherry.

Most of the overnight visitors to whom I offer my special morning-after breakfast treat usually devour the food off my body bit by bit, but there are others who like to get wild and crazy after setting up the goodies, because they’re into sploshing, which is the messy spreading of food across the body to increase arousal. For such clients, I only request that they let me know that they’d like to splosh me so I can cover the bed with a plastic sheet and have some towels ready to wipe off the mess when we’re done.

When we’re ready to make a happy mess, fruit works so well and blends into such lovely colors. I tell my sploshing fans: “Take your palms and mash those fruits right into my skin. Smear them. Mix them together so they look like you’ve applied body paint. Spread that delightful fruity hodgepodge everywhere on me.” On my creamy skin, the mixed-up fruits make me look like a living abstract painting.

If you’d like to book an overnight stay with me, followed the next morning by the sexiest day-starting meal you’ve ever enjoyed, send me an e-mail at [email protected]. Let’s plan an erotic menu for our encounter!

Cherry Lane

Bubbly, fun-loving, and outgoing, Cherry Lane is a world class courtesan completely dedicated to the art of pleasure-giving. Her beauty, positivity, compassion, open-mindedness, and nonjudgmental nature make Cherry and ideal companion for men, women, and couples seeking the intimate encounter of their dreams.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

Your Fetish is Possible…And Why That Matters

What trips your trigger? A body part? An outfit? An object? A feeling? Fetishes encompass a vast range of activities and that rainbow of kink makes sex so beautiful, unique, and endless. Unfortunately, many people don’t think their fetish can exist outside of their fantasies. Some might feel shame brought about from a past incident, some might feel their desire is too obscure to make real, and many don’t have a person they can trust to explore with.

That’s where I come in. Imagine a gorgeous and sympathetic woman who accepts you unconditionally, and is excited — genuinely — to get to know you and experience your fetish with you. that is the reality of who I am, what I do,  and what we can experience together here at a legal brothel.

Kinky Lexie Jade from Dennis Hof’s Sagebrush Ranch near Reno, Nevada

When you’re with me, the anxiety and apprehension of being judged will melt away as you realize that I’m sincerely here to listen to you and understand what makes you tick and what gets you off. I want to learn about your innermost desires and plan out a way to bring them to life even better and fuller than you could ever dream. Our correspondence and the sanctuary of my room are safe zones, places where we can really be ourselves without worry. What could you allow yourself to ask for and actually receive if you were presented with this opportunity? You would be amazed at what could come to fruition and how that would make you feel.

I am happy to say that I have worked with so many amazing men with their fetishes. I had an amazing experience with a veteran who had a delightful penchant for cross dressing — something he was hesitant to enjoy with his own wife, but was completely comfortable in the private environment of the bordello. Another encounter involved an unbelievably sexy foot fetish session, with a man who left so relaxed and satisfied after finally indulging in a fixation that is so common, yet still so misunderstood and rejected by society as abnormal.

I am also an expert at pegging, and I have loved the variety of people who enjoy being pegged in various role play scenarios. My favorite is a dominant role play that I engage in with several of my anally-enthusiastic clients. Many men, particularly men in positions of power, are uncomfortable revealing to their significant other that they enjoy being penetrated, especially when they prefer being pegged while playing the role of a subservient sex-slave. But with me, these fetishists can unreservedly play the submissive and enjoy thrust after thrust of my stern loving.  

These are just a few of the yummy situations we could find ourselves in, letting go of society’s expectations, and giving in to our lust and erotic passions.

Did you know that practicing self acceptance as a habit is the strongest indicator for overall happiness? It’s true, and that is not the only link between BDSM and mental health. Study after study, BDSM participants are happier than their counterparts. BDSM friendly participants were found to be less neurotic, more open, more aware of and sensitive to rejection, more secure in their relationships, and have a better overall well-being.

The old mindset that fetishes are a sign of past abuse or mental illness are flawed and untrue. Fetishes are common and found across all demographics. You are not bad, gross, evil, or wrong — as long as you enjoy your sensual cravings with consenting adults in a safe environment. I hope you get to act out your deepest desires with me, it would be my honor…and pleasure.

Stay kinky!

Lexie Jade

Voluptuous bombshell Lexie Jade in a sex-positive GFE companion with a welcoming personality and an kinky side that gives her an unexpected edge. She is currently a featured companion at Dennis Hof's Sagebrush Ranch near Reno, Nevada.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

I Hope You Leave Something Behind…

I’ll be honest…I’m never very comfortable in the line up.  Not that I’m not interested, because I certainly am, but when it comes to my sensuality I enjoy feeling connected to my lovers.  I like to exist on a few special people that I can see as repeat clients.  I like to feel like we share an intimate bond, and I’ve come up with a very tangible way to establish just that.  Ever heard of that old trick of leaving something behind at a girl’s house so you have a great excuse to see her again?  I’m hoping that’s exactly what you will do…

It started one night when I was sitting at the bar chatting with a client, feeling cold because I was scantily dressed.  He was wearing a button down dress shirt over his undershirt, and he took it off and draped it around my shoulders.  I immediately felt the comfort of his body heat, still evident on the fabric.  In addition, the collar carried his lingering scent, as if he had his arms around me and I could smell his skin.  I was hooked.  We went to my room for some intimacy, and afterwards I asked him if he would leave his shirt behind so I could sleep in it.  Long after we parted ways, the comfort of his shirt made me feel like he was still there holding me.  The next time he came to see me at the ranch, I greeted him at the door wearing his shirt…and nothing else.

Cee Mia from Dennis Hof’s Love Ranch near Las Vegas, Nevada

I quickly found out that I wasn’t the only one with a fetish for this particular article of clothing.  He loved the fact that I would send him pictures of me wearing his shirt in between his visits to the ranch.  We continued to bond long distance between his visits, and every time that I saw him the intensity between us grew greater.  I would even wear it around my own house, whenever I wasn’t at work.  I had something to remind me of him while I waited for his return…His look, his scent, and his feel.  That shirt symbolized the connection between us, and it made me feel sexy and confident every time I wore it.  It gave me a feeling that he would be back again soon, and it inspired me to think of things I wanted to do with him when he returned.  It might sound funny in this business, but I always like to feel a trust with my few special clients, because it allows me to really open up sexually and give them an experience that they wouldn’t otherwise get with me in a more casual scenario.  

Cee Mia

Now here’s where you come in…I want you to be one of those few people I count among my special connections here at The Love Ranch.

If you’re willing to give me the shirt off of your back, I’m happy to include some extra time into our party.  I’ll even give you a Love Ranch Vegas t-shirt in exchange, in case you don’t have a change of clothes with you.  If you do, however, then you really would have no excuse to stay the night with me, now would you? 

Contact me now and let’s make an appointment for our time together.  Then take a look in your closet, and decide which shirt you can stand to leave draped on my pillow.

Cee Mia

A sporty woman with a passion for life, love, and sex. Cee Mia is the brown eyed girl of your dreams, and she's currently a featured companion at Dennis Hof's Love Ranch near Las Vegas.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

I’ve Got You Pegged!

I am an Oklahoma gal – born and raised. If you know anything about us country girls – we are a special breed. I know I have been lucky growing up female because men have always encouraged me to be as sexual as I want to be. I have always had a healthy fantasy life and a lot of sexual curiosity. Sometimes I get wild fantasies that are a huge turn on but I have no idea why. I really don’t care, though. If it gives me pleasure, I want to do it.

I also know that men, who must have at LEAST as many fantasies and just as much curiosity as I do, don’t have it as good. There are a lot of judgments regarding what is “okay” for men to do…or even what they can want to do.

Brooklyn Moore from Dennis Hof’s Love Ranch near Las Vegas

If a man wants to do an anal party with me, it’s considered okay to do it. But, a lot of people think that when a woman fucks a man in the ass, it’s suddenly not considered to be “heterosexual” activity any more. My question is; who came up with the idea that straight men are less sexually adventurous than women? And why shouldn’t men get to live out their sexual fantasies? 

Brooklyn Moore will help you indulge your pegging fetish

Some people use the term “taking it up the ass” as an insult because it’s more submissive when being overpowered by someone more dominant. But the opposite is true. Most of the men who have come to me to enjoy this activity are not submissive men. They rule their world.  They usually powerful  in their private and business lives.  They know what they want and they’re not afraid to ask for it. And they do ask for it.  A lot.  There are some submissive men who like this as well. Even though they enjoy a submissive role in the bedroom, they still enjoy being with a girl. I imagine if you really were gay, wouldn’t you be going to a guy instead of a hot chick with a strap-on?

Brooklyn Moore from the Love Ranch Vegas

What do they get out of it you might ask? Well, for one, anal stimulation is the same as prostate stimulation. A man can cum without ever having his penis touched through anal stimulation alone.  And you can get your nut off very quick. I know that for a fact because I’ve experienced it with some of my clients and they have amazing, crazy orgasms when I am penetrating them. A lot of men also enjoy the pleasure I get when I experience what it is to have a dick of my own – even if it’s for a brief bedroom get-together. They encourage me to get into it and want to know how it makes me feel to fuck them. In honesty, it feels real good, my own Oklahoma-style rodeo sex, only my ride lasts a lot longer than 8 seconds.

So wanting or being intrigued by “Pegging” is not taking you outside your sexual orientation. You are what you are. No matter how you wrap it or unwrap it, it is sex between a girl and a guy. Yup, that’s right, Pegging is “straight sex”. The reality is that anal play, no matter who or what you are, can be very enjoyable. There are so many wonderful nerve endings there that there is no way that focused attention will not feel great. Not only that, but I found out it feels better for a man to receive penetration rather than a woman receiving anal because of that prostate gland. Just ask the guys who enjoy it, they’ll tell you how amazing those blast-offs can be.

Brooklyn Moore

The striking blonde that many men have fantasized about, Brooklyn Moore specializes in making those dreams come true. A licensed courtesan of remarkable skill and a woman with considerable adult entertainment experience, Brooklyn is a featured companion at Dennis Hof's Love Ranch near Las Vegas.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

Young Girl Seeks Men Wise Enough To Appreciate Her Charms

I can always sense when a man is looking at me. I feel him watching me. I can be out somewhere, say, browsing the stalls at a farmers market, when I feel eyes on my back. A twinge goes up my spine, and I suck in my breath quickly, then let it out slowly. Somebody is checking me out from somewhere nearby, and it turns me on. It’s not stalking; it’s being adored. Being the object of a male gaze, especially from a mature man, a man who knows how to study a woman’s body and the erotic possibilities it suggests, switches on all my girl parts. From my mind down to my toes, I feel intensely aware and charged. A stranger is making me part of his fantasy world, and it gets me wet in the area of the lovely V.

But first, the chase. I get a kick out of teasing guys. I like older men the most because they’ve lived long enough to appreciate a-n-t-i-c-i-p-a-t-i-o-n, a nice, leisurely buildup to a fiery fuck. Some younger guys, when they come to see me at the SageBrush Ranch, they see this petite, well-toned girl with a pretty, innocent face and pert titties, and they shift into fifth gear instantly, strip down, and want to mount me fast, like I’m their girlfriend’s sweet younger sister they always craved to penetrate. That’s a little too fast for me. I like giving oral sex, for example, and a guy so desperate to jam his dick in me is missing a great experience with a girl who knows how to use her mouth to talk and to suck a cock to a fare-thee-well. (More about that later.)

Ophelia Bee from Dennis Hof’s Sagebrush Ranch near Reno, Nevada

Back to the farmers market. I discreetly took out my compact mirror from the pocket of my jean jacket, held it at a certain angle, and glanced into the reflective glass. Along with the unbuttoned jacket I was also wearing a dark, sheer tee shirt that outlined my bare tits, red bikini panties, high-waist 90’s denim that hugged my ass, lacy white socks, and a pair of beat-up pink sneakers. Casual but sexy and slutty enough to catch the eye of any man who loves a woman’s sexual power. About four stalls down I glimpsed a man, about six feet tall, with a bit of a middle-aged belly but cute, with a trim gray beard and glasses, and he was definitely not browsing the vegetables. His eyes were taking a leisurely tour all over my body.

Whether I’m sitting conversing in my room with a customer, hanging with a client on an out-date, or just pleasing myself teasing horny strangers at farmers markets, I call that kind of look, “the hook-’em moment,” because I know my sexual projection has seized full power over the situation. Sometimes I imagine I’m a spy whose mission is to seduce her follower and fuck secret information out of him while I’m draining him dry.

I decided to do a little flirtatious posing to further arouse my audience of one and increase the sexual tension between us. So I bent down low, seeming to pick something off the ground, displaying my tight little buns and dancer’s legs to full fluorescent effect in those leggings. Then I straightened up, stretched and arched my back so my nipples pointed skyward, stood with my legs apart for few seconds, and sauntered off.

I didn’t have to glance back over my shoulder to know that he was moving behind me. I kept slowly walking, stopping every few stalls to browse, feeling him getting closer. By the time I reached a counter where the vendor sold jewelry made with turquoise, he was beside me. I waited for him to speak first.

“Hello, my name is Frank*,” he said in a soft, deep voice. I turned to face him, offering my hand to shake. “Ophelia,” I said. He held on to my hand and didn’t pull his back. Although he was a big man, he had a gentle touch. “I have a friend with a birthday coming up, and I need a beautiful young woman to help model some of this jewelry so I make the right choice,” he explained.

I love men who have lived long enough to confidently state their attraction to me so artfully. Here he was, holding my hand, touching me, standing so close I could feel the warmth of his body, the energy of his personality. So I said I’d be glad to help him out, and he let go of my hand to pick up a choker from the table.

I held up my chin so he could fit the choker, with its central throat turquoise stone, around my small neck. He didn’t close the fastener in back but held the choker tenderly around my throat. I had a sudden thought: “The first chance I get, I am going to suck this guy out of his socks!” I was getting very excited, but I didn’t show it. Keeping your crazy horniness corralled when you’re that worked up is one of the best parts about moving slowly.

Frank tried a couple of necklaces and bracelets on me, then placed them back on the table and thanked the vendor for the time. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked. I said sure and walked with him to the coffee truck. As we sipped, Frank asked me out. So I told him that I make my living as a sex worker at a legal brothel. Now, that startles some guys.

But not Frank. He smiled broadly, like he had won the lottery. “Really? I’ve never had a lady as young as you. Girls your age usually see the gray hair and roll their eyes.” I told him I didn’t see anything but gentlemanliness, grace, and experience in men his age. As we finished our coffee, I gave him my contact information and told him to book an appointment with me at the SageBrush Ranch.

He contacted me the next day, and we set our time for Saturday afternoon. When he arrived he was actually wearing a suit! But he looked good in it. (I especially love the shockingly hot effect when you fish a hard, purple-veined dick out of dress pants.)

We walked to my room, sat down to conclude our negotiations for a party, then I put on some Sinatra for us to dance to. Sinatra always works to get people in the mood for sex. I had a friend named Roxanne who taught me about Sinatra’s music and life. I always knew which guys she was planning to fuck: if she put Sinatra’s music on when the guy was with her, that was the signal. So I picked it up from her. Older men see Sinatra as a model for masculinity, so I always put on Old Blue Eyes for them.

We danced for a long time. I pressed myself against him, and I could feel a nice lump growing in his pants. I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to satisfy my curiosity about Frank’s dick: Was it big? Was it long? What did the head look like?

I sat down on the bed, motioned Frank over, and told him to stand in front of me. I looked in his eyes as I unzipped his pants, reached in, and located his snake in its lair. It popped out strong and tall; the head even swelled up and subsided. Man, was I excited! I should tell you all that I absolutely love giving oral. I do it because I love controlling a man’s pleasure. Jerri Hall, who was once married to Mick Jagger, famously said something like, “If you want something from a man, drop to your knees and give him a blow job!” I unwrapped a strawberry-flavored condom and rolled it over Frank’s manhood.

I like the funny faces men make when I suck them. I slid my mouth over Frank’s best friend, and that dick head of his swelled up on my tongue. Yummy! Frank’s facial expressions weren’t silly, but ecstatic. I took him out of my mouth, and said, “Oh, honey, you haven’t had a good dick-sucking for a long time, huh?” He nodded, then thrust his dick forward with a pleading expression. I returned to pleasing his pussy-prodder.

I had him groaning and moaning, fucking my mouth with that long-experienced rod of his. If I let him continue, I knew he’d soon blow his load into the condom. But I wanted him to explode inside me. I told him we had to strip off and get fucking now. “I just can’t wait to get your dick in my cunt!” I said.

I lay on my back on the bed, and in a hot second Frank had my legs in the air and was pile-driving himself balls-deep in me. God, he filled me up. He rammed himself into several times, grunting like a lion, then settled into a steady rhythm of pelvic thrusts, and we cruised along like that for a long time. He slowed down, then sped up; he pulled almost all the way out, then slid very slowly back in my pussy; he made short, sharp penile motions; he explored every inch of my pussy; and I lost track of the time. That’s what I like about older men. They use every move they know. Some guys want to fuck hard for five minutes, then shoot and go. Mature men want to stay inside that special warm and tight part of a woman longer. Much longer. Ahhhh….

Suddenly, Frank started hammering me like a living machine tool. I came twice before he did, and when he came, he slowed almost to a crawl, and I could feel the pulsations as he filled up the condom with his love-milk. I think he must have ejaculated eight to ten times, strongly. What a first-time experience with a client!

I love entertaining generous, mature men, and, as a new girl in town, I’m looking for new friends, and though I’m young, I’ve learned my superb sexual skills from men with decades of fucking experience. Let’s make a date you’ll never forget. Be good to your dick—he’s been good to you. Come see me and let’s party!

*Names have been changed for purposes of confidentiality 

Ophelia Bee

A 4'11" petite beauty, Ophelia Bee provides the very best in intimate companionship. Specializing in the Girlfriend Experience and an array of sensual services, Ophelia is currently a featured entertainer at Dennis Hof's Sagebrush Ranch near Reno, Nevada.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

Smoking Fetish: I’m a Smokin’ Hot Goddess of Sex

There’s an old joke that goes, “Do you smoke after sex?” whose punchline is, “I don’t know. I never looked.” Well, I smoke before, during, and after sex, except that my smoke comes from tobacco. (Although I crave an intense, fast fuck, with lots of friction stimulating my clit, so you might imagine you see a wisp of smoke rising from my pussy after we’re done.)

A woman smoking used to serve a subtle sexual function in movies from the 1930s through the 1970s, where she would indicate her erotic fascination with a man by lighting up and gently blowing smoke in his face as her eyes traced the lines of his visage, imagining what it would be like to see that handsome mug hovering over her as he pounded away at her cunt with her legs wrapped around his back. Sometimes the guy would light two cigarettes, handing one to the woman, and they would blow smoke at each other as a prelude to sex. You can still see it in foreign movies these days, especially French ones, where the woman’s eyes seem to become hazy as she grows hornier.

I like to smoke when I first meet and negotiate for my sexual services with a client. Doing so extends our pre-sex “interview” period, allowing him to savor my beautiful eyes and face, my slim body under my dress or jeans and blouse, and imagine the wonderful experience to come, when I slowly strip down for him, and wrap my lips and hands around his dick and “smoke” it to make him harden up before I assume whatever position he requests so he can slip his schlong into my smooth, wet, deep vagina.

As my name suggests, I am a goddess, and I cast my sexual spell over my men. Smoking helps me cast my sex magic: its peculiar scent, the way it drifts around the room and is caught in the Nevada sunlight streaming in through the window, the feminine softness of my mouth, with which I will kiss you and suck you and breathe smoke on you from the sexual fire within me.

I am a natural redhead (though I recently became a platinum blonde), and everything you’ve heard about the high sexuality of redheads is true, especially with me. Our pale skin glows and seems translucent; our orange public hair makes our pussies look like they’re aflame; and our flowery cunt lips are the pinkest roses you’ll ever enter with your cock.

One thing I like to do is have sex standing up against the wall with a cigarette dangling from my lips. Why? Well, it’s kind of a funky, wiseguy, sexy stance—me, play-acting this hot, blonde-haired-bitch talking dirty to you while you drive your cock into me as I suck on that butt and gently cup and massage your balls: “How do I feel, lover? You ever feel a cunt this tight? Go slow; I want to feel every inch of you… Now, ram it in! Fuck me hard! Drive it in! I’m gonna reach down and grab your shaft and feel it pulse as you shoot. Shoot, baby, shoot it all…” Now that’s what they used to call a “knee-trembler.”

I also have a move that I call the “four-cigarette fuck.” It’s a sex game I play where I get up doggie-fashion, so you can’t see my face, arch my back so my pussy’s wide open to you, then let you stuff me full of cock while I s-l-o-w-l-y smoke away. The longer we fuck, the smokier the room gets until it feels like we’re floating on a cloud. You hump away while I inhale that sweet smoke, but I don’t tell you how many cigarettes I’ve finished. The idea is to keep you fucking me as long as you can until you can’t wait any longer and blow your load. Most guys make it through all four cigarettes because that’s how good my pussy feels—you don’t want to stop, but the pressure of pleasure keeps building up until you release your cum.

But hey, not to worry. Afterwards, as we lay next to each other, we’ll share a smoke while you rest until your cock is ready for me to lean over, take you deeply into my lipsticked mouth, and suck you carefully and sensually back up to a full erection. Then maybe I’ll sit on your cock, and use my athletic pussy to pump another load out of you while I casually puff away. Smoke ’em if you got ’em!

Bella Divinity

An outgoing, caring, and down-to-Earth companion, Bella Divinity is currently enhancing the love lives of her clientele as a full-time courtesan at Dennis Hof's Kit Kat Ranch near Reno, Nevada.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me: