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Going Undercover & Undercovers...
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LittleSecrets86 is in Alabama
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Sooo -- soccer mom tried something new this week. I went undercover...

I have always been adventurous when selecting attire that makes me feel sexy, empowered, sultry, and dominating, and a major boss bitch in the bedroom. Nothing is "not considered" or tired on ... boudoir photo sessions should be considered their own love language. Ladies -- yes I know I have a few of you following me -- can I get a "preach" from the back of the room? Fellas, book your significant other a boudoir photo session. Offer $2500-$5000 for the session, throw in 1k for hair / makeup, and another $750-1k for new attire. Make it about you, as well -- have fun with it. Take her shopping, spoil her, treat her like a sexy fuck-toy princess. Agree upon the store / vender together, but then shop with/for her. Pick the outfits YOU think make her look the most empowered, sexy, and sultry. She wants to feel the confidence that comes from her partner desiring her (or at least A PARTNER) -- trust me. The evening after the photo session will break your way, I promise.

SECRET GIRL HACK: We all know you fellas rub one out constantly -- like daily -- we don't care, that's a you thing... BUT replace your porn / beat suite material with HER photos. "Get caught" ... or if you have a set of stones big enough... tell her "Baby, your session was so hot - these pictures are the only thing I can achieve orgasm with -- these pictures and you. Everything else, just doesn't do it for me..." Watch what happens next ...

CONFESSION: I had a lover show me the "hidden file" on his iPhone -- it was nothing but pictures of me. Granted, probably a complete set-up (bc most guys - not men - are Dbags) but it completely worked. I was naked and reverse cow girling faster then I say YEEHAW with dick in mouth.

Ok... on to the good stuff...

CONFESSION: The other night I went on a hunt -- I was feeling frisky and seeking a jackhammer to breakup my concrete a bit (No -- not a reference to STDs for the 19 y/os reading this - go back to class). I tried something new, I went undercover. I used a girlfriends wig from her drama department after explaining it was for role play -- just not what role who with whom Id be sharing stage with.

I am a professional during the day and usually have slacks, a cute top, a suit jacket, and heels as my goto. That night, I wanted to tap into Secret Persona a bit. Gents, every lady has a slutty persona they tap into on occasion. Don't let them lie to you, especially you younger dudes -- ever heard of "Ho phase" after a break up? Yeah, that's the persona coming to the surface -- but just the smallest portion. Every secret persona has desires of twosomes, threesomes, foursomes, and moresomes... every persona thinks about public(ish) play... every persona has a professor, coach, youth mentor, police officer, military member, firefighter, or your best fucking friend scene in their rolodex of stimulating material.

I had the wig, different conturing make up, glasses, a concert t-shirt, jeans I had to damn near paint on me, and heeled boots (sexy shit kickers). These jeans were so tight, I felt like my two day landing strip was on display for the world. I looked hot as fuck and ready to devour souls. Husband and I talked for a minute... he didn't even notice, didn't even look up from his phone. I have a hard and fast rule with boundaries now bc of him -- when I talk to you -- you look me in the fucking eyes. Do not dismiss me behind your screen as a discardable cup or the charger you have in your junk drawer, that you have NO IDEA what it goes to, but throwing it out seems like a bad idea.

Living in my college community, on the plains of the Alabama landscape, I knew I had to seek new stalking grounds - and keep my eyes out. A wig and glasses will do a lot, but bitches always smell other bitches in heat...

We have a shopping complex off the highway a bit in our community. I opted to start there -- Box store with a target symbol, nah. Too visible. Coals, nope, mostly women... and I needed dick, I didn't want to have to work that hard for a release. Ahhh... perfect... a random, nameless sporting goods store -- reflective in name with what I was wanting. That should have plenty of opportunities. As I walked in and started to make my rounds, I noticed and gentlemen in the golfing section. Late 40's, 6'2-6'3, 210-220ish, clean skin - no ink. Clean shaven. Boyish look to him, but lines around eyes tells me he is mature enough to review excel spreadsheets, that assumedly have quarterly finance numbers on them not that stupid excel hangman game we all lost hours to. School branded polo, shorts, ankle socks with NICE SHOES ... no thong sandals or crocs ... but actual zero drop dress shoes. The kinda guy that drives 20 minutes out of the way to use the Bucc-ees bathrooms vs the local chevron - just because they are cleaner and offers a better experience. A man of taste and appreciation.

This was my guy, this was my target -- and I was fully hunting now. I instantly started to react - walking got a little slippery and "the girls" -- pointing the way. He was working through some swing mechanics with a coach and a few clubs. I stood just far enough away and off to the side to be seen and catch his eye. The SECRET is you have to let THEM think they are catching YOU. Fellas - you have no idea how calculating and manipulative we are with you... everyday... we depend on your comfort, life's distractions, and your conditioned fear to not be insulting to women. "Open that back hip up a little more on your back swing -- keep your club face and hip at the same rotational angle..." I offered. He looked over at the swing instructor for concurrence, and Ill be damned. "She's right.. I didn't notice your position"

He smiled at me while listening to his "coach" ... I winked back, smiled, and did an about face to walk away. The walk was completely intended to show off the under curve of my jeans on my ass. The walk -- hips for days, ladies. I fucking strolled away looking like Jessica Rabbit. I headed for the ladies workout attire section -- I needed to put him on my territory, I knew he was going to follow me -- you all are nothing if not predicable.

His approach was solid -- he was confident, direct, charming, and flirty. "How did you know that about my swing, are you a golfer?", he asked with interest and a smile. "No" I smiled back. "But... I am an expert on hip rotation, gyration, and the importance of repetitive angles"... I can't believe I just said that... Im fucking dripping at this point. The rush of flirt and danger always gets me.

"Hi.. Im.." he offered both his hand and name. I stopped him immediately ... "I will take your hand, but no names...no numbers... no exchanges... no future encounters... also I see your tan line and the ring shape in your pocket... I don't care" I take his hand and start to lead him to the changing room. I grab a handful of clothing items I prestaged in a section I claimed as he was walking over .. and hiding his wedding ring .. both Mens and Women's clothing.

The changing rooms in this store are massive... like NYC first apartments massive. Feels like 200-300 square feet. The door clicks behind us ... and I feel his hands start to spin me around to face him... He grabs a breast and leans in for a kiss. "No." I firmly state ... confused, like he made a criminal mistake... "Im sorry, Im sorry, I thought...". "No. You are fine -- you read this right and you made the right play... but this isn't your fantasy, this is mine. If you want to be an active participant -- you will listen and obey. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am" he smiled.

"Good boy. Strip, sit on the bench... open your legs"

"What can I call you?" -- "Mistress", I respond lustfully.

He undressed with his back to me -- humility and embarrassment getting the better of him in the moment. He turned around and it was glorious. Defined abs, dad puff on the side - just a bit. Groom chest hair, hard wood floors down below, and a rock hard package ready to go... NOT the biggest, fucking thick...holy shit.. ladies it was thicker than the business end of a salon blow dryer.

"I may never hit rock bottom, but I'll rub the shit out of some walls"... he smirks. A line I am sure he has been practicing since he was 15...

"Sit on the bench...legs open." "Yes ma'am". As he sits, I unbutton my jeans shimmy them just down above my knees, if they went much further, they weren't getting back on and I needed to leave the store.

"Here's the deal -- you may taste, you may touch, you may fuck, you may cum AFTER I do... I will dress and I will leave. We will not leave together, we will not communicate outside this room, this will not happen again... If I find you acting creepy after this encounter... My team and I will burn you so bad, you will wish you died as a child...Clear?" I firmly yet flirty offer...

"Crystal clear..." he nodded, I swear men get harder when women are direct with him and lay out expectations. As to be an unprocessed mommy response -- very Oedipus feeling. I moved between his legs, I turned to so my firm ass was squarely in his face, I bent at the hips... and reached back spreading my cheeks wide... "Taste" I commanded.

He attacked my hips, booty, and hamstrings like a dog who hasn't eaten in days. His hands wrapping firmly around my cheeks, his tongue finding my soaked lips... an audible moan of pleasure reverberated through my pussy from him. "You taste delicious, mistress"... "I know". His tongue raked over me, flicking my clit and dragging northward. He tasted everything of mine that I had to offer. His fingers made penetrating motions, the heat and blood in body boiling over... he had tremendous skill. Once he had consent -- he was animal. My heart was racing, my legs started to shake... I was building and he knew it. "Be careful, Mistress is like TLC song... Don't go chasing waterfalls."

He didn't make a sound of acknowledgement -- just kept tasting, fingering, moaning, and humming... fellas, learn that trick... get your gfs clit in your mouth, hold it gently between your teeth... HUM YOUR FAVORITE SONG. Wink. His pace quickened and I was about to shoot off like a rocket. I bit my forearm and moaned into my skin. I busted open like a cheap dam... covering his face, chest, and hips with my fluids. He looked in shock -- not fearful or regrettable shock -- but aroused, "I didn't know women could do that in real life, befuddled shock",

"Did I just do that?" he asked... "Yes, baby - YOU did"

"Now -- stand up, hold my hips and fuck me like you paid for it... I want to feel you release inside me."

Like a good Soldier, he followed orders. The rest of the experience, I'm saving for my personal self-care :-), but I will tell you this... he was GOOD... I achieved MULTIPLE gushing orgasms as a result of his -- wall rubbing. He released when I told him to grab my hair -- and "fuck me the way your wife won't". DONE. INSTANT RELEASE.

Gents -- I will speak for ME and a handful of other women Ive talked to about this, not ALL women of course -- the sensation of release inside us is BEYOND HOT, but what seven hotter is when your not in a rush to pull out, but you stay inside us.. and your pulsate / flex your freshly milked cock inside us. I write a LOT, I read A LOT... and I cannot find the words for that sensation, other than THAT IS WHAT MAKES ME HORNY FOR MULTIPLE ROUNDS AFTER I ORGASM.

As promised, I shimmed my panties and jeans up, I kissed him on the cheek -- "Thank you, Im going home to my significant other, with you draining in my panties"

He sat like a good boy and watched me walk out of the changing room. He did not follow. He followed the rules. Good boy, Golf Guy.

48hrs later I saw him in his professional capacity -- our circles overlap and I didn't know it -- I started sweating a little bc I was off guard and he didn't know ANYTHING about me, which made the company I was in a little weird, should he react anyway. I was pulled over to his conversation circle and introduced.

He extended his hand, offered his name again... I accepted this time. I didn't have my wig or glasses on, I was professionally dressed, and that mother fucker didn't recognize me worth a damn.

Ladies, score one for the inner soccer mom slut in all of us.

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