Down and Dirty at the Dive Bar

I think all of you who keep up with my blog and have phone sex sessions with me know that I’m a very classy lady–which is what makes it all the more fun to go out on occassion and get a little dirty at dark and dingy dive bar–which is exactly what I did last night. 

There is something just a tad sexy about a lot of the men you’ll encounter in dive bars–masculine, hard-core, looking for a fight.  Dive bars are primal, animalistic, and the perfect place to let your hair down.  I began thinking of my cucky-husband callers, and my mind began racing.  I love the image of a well-to-do investment banker finding me, his perfect trophy wife, getting fucked on the bar by a rugged construction worker–his buddies standing by and making my husband watch–or else.

There are just some fantasies that don’t call for satin sheets and champagne.  Some sexual fantasies are best played out in the dark underground.  For as hardened as the men at the bar were, in a place where women often find themselves prey, cockteasing those fuckers until they are crawling around on their hands and knees on the dirty bar floor, saying ”Yes, ma’am.  No ma’am.  Whatever you say ma’am,” is all the more appealling.  They may have brute strength, but that’s no match for sexual prowess.

But I’m sure my slutty sissies know what I’m talking about.  I’ve led many sissies to the filthiest of truck stops, the dirtiest of porn shops, the cheapest of watering holes to go get themselves some true-blue cock.  It’s all about the juxtaposition of images.  It makes me squirm in my seat to think about a pair of expensive, frilly panties rubbing up and down on coffee stained, thrift store jeans!

Cruel to be kind,

Empress Whitney   

IF YOU’RE WILLING TO GET A LITTLE DIRTY CALL 800.356.6169