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There’s not much pretending or roleplay when most wankers call my controlled masturbation lines. We get right down to the bare bones…er bone of it.

It’s just his cock, his hand, and me telling him what to do with them. Indeed, it is a perfect match.

I have a regular who is looking for something a bit different. Back in the beginning he would fantasize that he was sitting on the floor, stroking his cock and looking up at me towering above him. He would see my nurse’s uniform of pvc or latex or lycra, with its very short skirt barely covering the tops of my white stockings, its thin fabric barely concealing the parts of my body that it did cover.

He could see my shapely legs in those stockings with seams, terminating downward in high heeled platform white “nurse” shoes.

Looking up at me, he could see up the hem of my skirt but not quite tell what it was he was seeing. The shadows left him wondering whether his eyes were playing tricks on him. Was he seeing a shadow? An illusion? Or was he merely letting his imagination take control? He would look up at my round, firm hips, my flat tummy, and my tiny waistline, wanting to encircle that waistline with his fingers, his hands, his forearms, and pull me in tightly. He wanted to reach out and touch my legs, my breasts. Sitting on the floor as he was, he could only imagine and get more and more excited.

Looking up past my flat belly, the shiny fabric of the white uniform, to the swell of my breasts, which softly filled the bodice of the uniform almost to overflowing, stretching the fabric tightly to its limit. The nipples poked through, visible through the thin fabric, plastic, latex. But with the material stretched tightly across my bosom in that way, my face was not visible from his position on the floor. He was only able to catch a glimpse of the white nurse’s cap on the top of my head when I leaned over to look down at him. He would stare up at me as he desperately stroked his cock.

I am unappoachable in the fantasy, but he imagined my long red fingernails on his cock, teasing it, stroking it for him. He could smell my closeness, and the fantasy took over the call until the excitement became (naturally) more than he could bear.

Guys sitting on the floor, too weak in the knees to stand as they wank helplessly to my presence. Works for me.

I had a call from a new caller by the name of Danny, who had something rather different in mind.

He was a little cock gay sissy who works in a salon as a shampoo boy, or so he says. He gets to shampoo and roll the ladies’ hair, which gets him entirely too excited. So naturally he needed to get those excess fluids drained from his sex organs with a massive orgasm.

To maximize the pleasure, you maximize the time spent getting there and the time spent on the edge. That builds up pressure for a much greater explosion, even if you’re a guy with little marble balls who only cums a dribble or two.

I guided him along, allowing for a gradual buildup. But as he reached the end, he wanted to switch to a roleplay scenario. A salon scenario. He was going to wash and set my hair.

I talked about him putting the cape on me, leaning me back into the hair wash sink, running water through my hair, shampoo, rinse, conditioner, rinse, then back to the chairs, where he took a rattail comb and began to separate my hair out prior to setting it. But that’s where it ended. The excitement was more than he could stand, and he let go the longest stream he’d ever shot. Looks like he was going to be able to fondle the ladies’ hair today without worrying about getting one of those pesky hardons.

I’ve got a domain here, but neither webpage nor blog. I thought, why not slap up a blog? So here it is.

Who am I? I’m Svetlana, the School Nurse at The Gold Star Academy of Discipline, an exclusive prep school where bad boys get sent to straighten them out and put them back on track. By the time they’ve missed graduating with their class, it’s time for some drastic action. They’ve pretty much shown that they can’t be trusted to follow directions or do the right thing.

They need to be controlled by a woman.

Under the influence of testosterone, they can’t think straight. They turn into compulsive wankers, but they can’t even do that well.

That’s where the Jackoff Boys Club comes in. I take over their favorite activity for them and give them an experience so explosive that they couldn’t even have imagined it. It’s all part of the plan to break their will, to manipulate their sexuality and turn them into docile slaves, who live to serve women.

It’s a tough job, a neverending job, but somebody’s got to do it.

That’s me.