Cameryn Moore, PHONE WHORE

My extreme sub (hi, Gary!)
September 3, 2009, 6:38 pm
Filed under: Cameryn 101 | Tags: ,

I have one caller, Gary, who reads this blog. Has read this blog, at least. I don’t know how often he visits. I talk about him to my partner, to a couple of friends; to them he is my “extreme sub”. I believe him, that he does what he says he does. And if I believe him in that, then it’s a fact that no one else I know goes nearly as low. In the land of extreme submission, Gary is the most brazenly, flamboyantly humble of them all. To be specific, he’s a toilet slut, a sort of time-lag shit-pig who hates the act at the time but for days and weeks afterward wallows in his perversity.

Most of our calls, though, are normal. Like, we talk about stuff for 45 minutes or so and then I talk about force-feeding him my shit, and then we wrap it up and say good night until next time. In that prelude time, we talk about anything, and a couple of months ago I told him about my plans for the Phone Whore play and audio downloads. He said, show me the blog, maybe I have some ideas for marketing. I took a leap of faith and told him.

Since then he’s been away, to East Asia and Europe, on business. The fact that I even know why he hasn’t called, tells you a little something about our relationship. Last night, finally, he called. I was pleased to hear from him, and told him so. I asked him about the trip. I asked had he seen the blog yet. Yes, he said, It’s interesting. I’m a little hurt, though, that you haven’t mentioned me.

I told him that I felt protective of my connection with him, that it would feel strange to talk about in public. I told him that I wrote about him in Phone Whore, a whole paragraph. (Yes, I even asked him to donate to the play!) That seemed to settle it. But after we had our scene, and we said good night and hung up, I realized that it wasn’t settled. Not for me…

I know what you want to hear, Gary. Apparently the fierce possessiveness that you heard in my voice last night, the part that made you come, wasn’t enough to convince you. So I’ll tell you, right here, in public:

In my mind’s eye I can see you crumble and cry beneath wave after wave of filth. You are resplendent in your despair, and beautiful when you break. I wish I could be there when that dom couple down South degrades you so thoroughly. And I’m glad you keep choosing me to hear about it, and ask you pointed questions, and listen to your voice dropping low and trance-like, and make you relive that degradation all over again. I cherish that power. So much that I’m giving you this post as a thank-you gift.

So read it over again now, imagining it in my voice, and come all over that nice leather sofa of yours. Now lick it up. Do it.


You’re welcome. Call me again soon.


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