💌 📖
Skip to main content

Go on, take a peek… You know you want to!

Age Play Princess

How old do you want me to be?

Sweet -n-Southern

My sweet little voice will make you melt. My Southern charm will cater to your every need.

Body Worship

Worship my little body…and I’ll worship yours.

Buy Minutes

Sexting

Tip Me

Pics Panties & More

The Sinful Pen

More from Aspen

  • Call Me Your Exotic Escape

    Call Me Your Exotic Escape

    By Aspen · Bio · All Blogs · Twitter

    Call Me Your Exotic Escape

    My international phone chat always starts with a smile—and ends with an accent fetish that leaves you begging for more of my exotic fantasy. The moment you hear my soft, golden locks rustling against the phone, you’re hooked on the gentle lilt of my Southern drawl.

    There’s an intoxicating allure in the way I pronounce each syllable, like sweet syrup dripping from my lips. When I breathe your name with a drawn-out “mmm,” a shiver runs down your spine. I paint vivid pictures with my velvety voice, transporting you to a world where magnolias bloom and the air is heavy with the scent of honeysuckle.

    As we connect across the digital veil, the fantasy intensifies, fueled by the promise of an intimate, cultural escape. My creamy skin and petite, curvy figure come alive in your mind’s eye, each detail etched by the sensual cadence of my speech. My gentle blue eyes seem to sparkle with mischief and longing, urging you to step further into the sultry embrace of my accent.

    With each whispered word, I weave a sensual tapestry of arousal, drawing you deeper into the tangled web of your own desires. My accent is a seductive siren’s call, luring you to a place where time stands still and only the rhythm of my breath matters. And when our phone chat finally ends, you’re left with a craving that only the promise of my return can satiate.

    When I whisper in your ear again, you’ll remember the way my accent made your soul ache for another escape. Until then, let the warm, golden tones of my drawl linger in your mind like the fading echoes of a sweet, forbidden kiss.

    Sweet Southern sin, whispered slow.
    Aspen
  • Aspen: The Witch in the Wheat

    Aspen: The Witch in the Wheat

    By Aspen · Bio · All Blogs · Twitter

    Aspen: The Witch in the Wheat

    I am the witch in the wheat, my enchantment woven through moonlight and surrender. The silvery glow bathes my pale skin, highlighting the curves of my body as I sway amidst the swaying golden stalks. Strands of wheat caress my thighs, entwining like a lover’s touch. Fireflies dance around me, embers of a subtle magic that stirs the air.

    My white dress flows like a river of moonbeams, the fabric thin enough to reveal the shadows between my breasts and the triangle of darkness between my thighs. The material seems to shimmer with an inner light, as if my very essence is infused within the cloth. With each step, the fabric clings to my form, outlining the contours of my body in a sensual display.

    A lost traveler stumbles into my field, his footsteps faltering as he’s drawn in by the allure of the night. His eyes lock onto mine, and I see the first stirrings of desire and confusion. With a whispered incantation, I summon the essence of the wheat, the soft rustling now a hypnotic rhythm that echoes through the air. The scent of damp earth and ripening grain wafts around him, filling his senses and clouding his mind.

    I beckon him closer, my fingers trailing through the wheat as I glide towards him. The stems part like a whispering crowd, revealing my approach. The fireflies surge ahead, their glow illuminating my face as I smile, revealing teeth sharp with intent. The traveler’s breath hitches, and he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s standing before me, ensnared in the spell of the wheat and my enchantment.

    My hands reach out, and he surrenders to their touch, his eyes fluttering closed as a shiver runs through him. I guide him down into the soft earth, the wheat cushioning our forms as I straddle his hips. The moon peeks through the leaves above, bathing us in an ethereal glow.

    I lean down, my lips brushing his ear as I whisper, “In the light of the moon, in the fields of my wheat, you are mine to claim. Tomorrow, they’ll only find footprints leading deeper into my field—never back out.” With that promise, I claim him as my own, our bodies entwining in a dance as ancient as the earth itself.

    Moonlit and wild,
    Aspen