Penny’s Fantasies

Hi, I'm Penny for YourDesires... Call me @ 360.412.8211 (ask for Penny) or E-Mail me @ ""
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Age: 26
Cup Size: 34a.24.34
My [Blog]
My [Story Archives]
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Multiple girl calls are available. For rates and billing information, click [here]
Likes: Roleplay and playing dress-up, Dom/submissive (I switch if you ask nicely), body worship, sensory deprivation, girl-on-girl and threesomes, spanking and punishment, wet and sloppy oral, and a good solid length of rope.
For more pictures and my full bio, click [here] (nsfw)

Penny’s Fantasies

I’ve printed several copies of the photos, all in full glorious color. You
find them tucked in hidden places: between the pages of your book, slipped
inside your pillowcase. When your finger meets the hard edge of the
snapshot, that white frame exposing acts caught in a flash of pink and
white and red, your faces flushes in color to match.
In one a mouth, painted shocking pink and open wide to accept an unseen
offering. You recognize those lips, the wet shimmer of saliva on a
familiar tongue.
Another, inside your coat pocket, two fingers knuckle-deep in a drenched,
blurred slit of spread-open pink. The flash gleams against a gold band,
glistening and buried in cunt. You swallow hard, but your cock is harder.
An entire day of finding, uncovering, humiliating glimpses of flesh
debased. Of secrets revealed. The postman blushes as he hands you the
mail, snapshots stacked between envelopes. Bare ass and bruises and the
blur of a paddle tucked behind bills.
The last photo found atop your desk: those pink lips now smeared and
stuffed with a sodden wad of lingerie. Eyes wide and alight from the
camera flash, the look of fear and longing mirroring your expression now
as you pick up the phone. Your fingers tremble as you dial, eyes drinking
in the fuzzy details of your punishment. Your fingers tremble, aching to
be punished again.
Dial, and I hear that empty, unpainted mouth beg to smile for the camera.
I hand you the keys. “Drive.”
You slip inside, adjust the shiny eyes of mirrors.
Each little click of the seat sliding back: Possession.
The leather squeaks as you settle in, releasing like a breath a little
puff of my smell. Hot metal glints and the shell of steel encloses you.
The stifling air of my scent, my ownership, fills your lungs as you grip
the wheel.
You can feel the throaty roar of the engine rumble through you. “Man,” the
car murmurs, “use me.” A little click of the locks, like a tongue tutting,
seals us in. Sweat beads on your temples, your upper lip you lick in
anticipation of the power latent all around you. My palm rests on your
thigh, a passenger. Pink lips part and whisper, “Go.”
Delighted, you drive. The latent beast growls to life, loud and low. I
feel you grow against my fingers and with every sharp turn -squeeze.-
Drunk with freedom, head high and heel down to throttle, the first few
curves hardly register. It is only when you feel my fingernails biting
through your fabric that you flinch. “Stop,” you say sharply, though your
throbbing cock disagrees. He pulses under my pressure, a shift to swerve
becomes a stroke. Brake and your balls are squeezed. Speed earns you a
stroke, your hips tilting in spite of you, driving up into temptation. But
as you slow, slip one hand off the wheel, I slide away.
“Eyes on the road,” and the engine revs. Heels stamp down again and
fingers creep, the rough roar of the beast in your hands and the beast in
The envelope is smaller than you’d expect, but your heart jolts at the
sight of it. A little pink square, nestled between the crumpled folds of
the ever-present ad papers and the sharp, celibate edge of a bill. One
little corner bends as you pull it from the mailbox and your flustered
fingers eagerly press it back into shape. It feels so thin, so fragile in
your hands, this little blushing bit of paper. As you hurry back to your
door, the ads abandoned in the bin and your bill shoved under your arm,
the soft loop of my handwriting spells out your name dead center. The door
shuts and the world falls away to quiet, to that single scribble of text.
You read it over and over, imagining my hand curving to caress the paper
with my pen. My voice whispers in your ear, softly spelling out these
intimate little details my ink spilled into each letter. Your fingers
trembled to slide under that little fold, so careful to peel that little
pink triangle back and expose more of my words. More of my voice. Careful,
now, not to tear it as you finally slip that single sheet free from its
The thud of your heartbeat echoes in your ears. The letter is blank. A
soft moan escapes your lips and you feel your knees weaken. The letter
crumples in your hand and you bring your fist to your mouth to stifle the
little whimper of weakness. You draw in your breath in a hiss…and pause.
Inhale again and a shudder of warmth shakes you. You stagger back against
the wall and suck breath after trembling breath in. “Not blank,” you hear
me say through the sweet, pink fog filling you with every inhale. Pressed
to your face my paper spills its secret –its scent– and sends you
sliding down to your knees. Mouth open now and pressed, panting, against
the page you fight to free yourself. As you wrap your fingers round your
swelling cock, the hot cloud of your breath reveals a faint wet mark.
Frantically, your hand starts to pump as the hot exhalations of joy reveal
a hidden, spreading message soaking the paper pressed against your lips.
You moan in delight as you press your tongue to the letter, tasting where
a single sticky finger has traced your name in sweet, invisible ink.
The letter is soaked, sucked into your moaning lips and muffling you as
you pump furiously. My cum spreads over your tongue, every stroke another
wave of sweetness you swallow. You gulp your own name between heaving
breaths, hearing my murmur it through the fog of pink pleasure flooding
you. Your orgasm is muffled and violent, wrenching you from the wall and
leaving you a shivering, slovenly heap on the floor.

Another letter arrives in the morning.
“Let’s tour this one,” I laugh, already pulling you up the driveway and
past the perfectly-manicured lawn. “Open House!” all the cheery signs
shout, enticing passerby with clusters of dancing balloons. You’re already
flushed, this is the third house we’ve explored. Someone’s bound to catch
on soon, but maybe one more…
“Welcome~!” says the ten-karat smile in a pantsuit, handing me a brochure.
She looks you over and her smile falters once she spies the bulge
straining through your shorts. But she regains her composure, a
professional, and guides us into the crowded living room. A dozen people
are already examining the fireplace, scuffing the carpet, discussing
ceiling height and crown molding.
I slip my hand into your pocket and give you a squeeze. The lining’s so
thin I can feel your veins pulse in my fingers. You gasp as I pull away
and float back into the foyer. The agent hovers, cheeks rosy with her
forced grin. Can she get you a refreshment? Are you familiar with the
area? Your heartbeat thuds in your ears. Every second, every distraction,
buys me time to slip into a room and hide. This house is so much bigger
than the last and you’ve already had to wait so long. Your erection throbs
with need, when will this silly cow bother someone else?!
Finally, a question about the foundation pulls her away. You practically
sprint up the stairs. Are those your footsteps pounding or your pulse? The
hallway yawns before you, every door closed. So little time to find me,
somewhere open and waiting. What lies behind door number one? You have
only once chance, one choice, and a little shift of shadow makes you lunge
for the first door on the left.
Just curtains playing in the light. The bedroom is empty. Your cock
twinges in agony as you hear another door open, down the hall.
“Guessed wrong,” says the hot breath in your ear, fingers creeping to pull
you loose from your shorts. You groan as I grip you tightly, pumping your
aching cock once, twice. I stroke and press my hips against your ass, your
precum dripping onto the shiny hardwood of this picture-perfect room. “At
this rate,” I squeeze and watch you throb, “we’ll have to find a studio
apartment for you to get to fuck me.” I release you, wander over to the
bed, and wipe my hands on the fresh white pillowcase. Your eyes are so
pleading, begging me to finish you here, now! I brush my lips against
yours, my little pink tongue stealing into your mouth. Your fingers brush
against the soaked crotch of my pants and, painfully, your cock twinges
“There’s a little two bedroom touring next door,” I whisper against your
lips. “Fourth time’s the charm?”
“Empty your pockets of any metal or change, please.”
“I don’t have any pockets,” I say with a wink. “After all, where would
pockets go on pants this tight?” I hear you chuckle a bit behind me in
line. Security looks me over with a scowl and pulls me to the side. Does
he want to be a little more thorough with me?

I catch your eye as I’m guided away. There’s a little of that laugh still
tugging at your lips. When I mouth, “Oh no!” those soft lips spread into a
smile. The line moves, the screen closes…almost.

You take a little longer slipping back into your shoes. Amazing, isn’t it,
what an open inch of screen can show? I see you waiting, watching, as all
my secrets are exposed. Is he being too rough, with those cold hands on my
shivering skin? Looking for something hidden under all those tight little
layers? Your shiver matches mine when the guard’s latex gloves snap to
explore a little deeper. But you wait, you watch through that little slice
of screen. I see you lick your lips. I see you.

And when you come up behind me after in that dark, empty gate…
Will I feel that it was you, instead, with something under all those clothes?
Something hard…and hidden…ready to explode?
They looked so sweet standing in my doorway, their still-boyish faces so
innocent and hopeful. How could I resist two fresh-faced young men
peddling their purity? They couldn’t have picked a better time to knock,
with me hardly dressed in the stifling summer heat. A harmless smile
curved my lips and guided them over the threshold.

How precious the younger one was when he stammered his name, eyes on
everything but me! His dark-eyed partner swallowed noisily and asked for a
glass of water. I slithered off my cushioned throne and heard his
pamphlets flutter to the floor as my shirt exposed an extra inch of flesh.
The thin fabric hung in folds, just barely covering my black, silky
panties. His eyes scorched my back, my ass, my thighs as I filled his cup.

Their ties loosened in the new heat. Anxious lips were licked and bitten.
Words of salvation stumbled as pants grew tight. The further up my shirt
hem climbed, the bigger their eager little eyes grew. “Tell me more about
sin,” my skin whispered. “Tell the ways that lead pious men astray.” I was
the wolf cloaked in black silk and they were docile little lambs begging
for slaughter. Their prayers faltered as I slid to the floor. Perhaps
their Savior stayed to watch as I prowled, his ghostly loins aflame in
holy fire.

“Beware the beguiling temptress,” the younger disciple squeaked as I slid
over his shaking legs, mounted him. His dark companion looked on, silent.
I pressed my hips into the lap of the innocent, soaking him in my sin.
“For she walks in darkness and hers are the ways of Gomorrah,” he
whispered now, eyes glazed. My smile was all wickedness and I felt him
pulse, strain against me. I was temptation incarnate, my flesh bending the
spirit to its will. Two smooth hands wove into my hair from behind,
forceful and unshakable and rough.

“Two beasts rose from the ocean,” his deeper voice intoned as he jerked my
head back, “and upon one rode the whore-queen of Babylon.” My hips began
to grind against whimpers of the innocent boy as the man slipped two
fingers into my wet, open mouth. I could feel him press his hard, holy
cock against my ass, pushing me further down onto his companion. With wet
lips I sucked, bathing his fingers with my succubus tongue. “The beasts
will eat her flesh and burn her with fire,” his words and hands grew
rougher, the pants beneath me grew wet. “They will bring her to ruin and
leave her naked.” A strangled cry below me betrayed that the virgin had
soiled his pants with cum. I gazed, hypnotized, into the soul of my
coal-eyed prophet. I felt him tense and thrust against me. The flesh is
weak, Lord, but willing. He came with a shuddering groan, twisting my back
into an arch, and breathed the sacred words into my ear.

“For the woman that I see is the great city that rules all the men of the
earth. And mighty am I who judge her.”
This wing of the museum is almost empty. The traveling exhibits and flashy
modern pieces draw the crowds away from this silent marble tomb. I step
forward to face the gleaming icon in the center of the room. A single
window illuminates him, everything else pales.

I’ve come here nearly every day in the chill air of the marble room, to
stare at David as Bernini carved him, readying for battle. I feel my body
clench and shiver as waves of warmth rush to stave off the cold of the
room. I am a voyeur to the loading of the sling, and I stare hungrily into
his frozen face. His brow furrows in concentration and his full, boyish
lips are forever hidden in a grimace. I lick my own lips and imagine how
cool the stone will feel against the warmth of my flesh. I will have him

If the museum knew how often I’d reach up to stroke his muscled thighs,
tried to peek around the carved folds of his loincloth, I’d be on the
street in seconds. But no one is ever here and my need outweighs my
caution. I glance around again; the guard is asleep or perhaps she’s
peering around the corner. It doesn’t matter anymore if she watches. I
must be quick so they will not catch me. I will have him today.

My body aches as I climb onto his pedestal and finally kiss the face I’ve
obsessed over each night. I’ve been dripping wet since I walked in the
front gate. I feel it soaking my thighs as I press myself against the
curved marble of his body. My fingers rake his stony curls and I gasp as I
imagine them warm and alive and tangled in my hands. Wrapping one leg
around his, I run my tongue along the icy hump of his shoulder.

I can barely keep from crying out as the hard edge of fabric at his waist
presses against my clit. I worship him with my lips and tongue, I bathe
him in the hot juices of the living. On his pedestal for all the world to
see I grind my throbbing cunt against the cold marble body of a king. I
defile his perfect, chiseled body with my wetness. I press my gasping
mouth into his side and the heat of my heaving breath for a moment makes
him real. In a flash I can taste the sweat of fear and battle and the hot
flesh of man. My ears ring with the cries of men thirsty for blood, hungry
for a beating pulse in their hands, as I writhe in climax and cling to my
ruined icon. The moan his stone hands pulled from me echoes in the empty

I climb down the pedestal, my knees still shaking, my insides still
twitching and shivering as I try to stand. When I place a sloppy kiss on
his chilly marble foot, I glance up and imagine a smile tugging the
corners of his stony frown. The pale light sparkles off my cum, a
glittering trail marking my conquest. I adjust my dress and giggle as I
pass a cluster of confused tourists, coming to see who awoke some sleeping
sculpture. Coming to see who has fucked the king of stone.