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alix lynx, unhinged

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May 28, 2020

SCARY STORIES TO TELL BEFORE BED: THE GUY WHO SWALLOWED EVERYTHING

 

Let me just start off by saying something here. I’ve heard it all. I’ve seen it all. At this point in my life there are very few things that can phase me.

Like, there are the types of people where ONE mention of a fucking NIPPLE offends them to no end.

Then there’s me.

Like, I’ve been exposed to every obscure fetish; every kink from the deepest crevice of Reddit; every sex-related confession I’ve heard from one of my friends -and sometimes just a random human –

(side note: there’s something about being an adult entertainer that makes people comfortable enough to let their guard down pretty quickly and confess their deepest darkest secrets to me, like, instantly. My theory is that if I’m willing to live my life in such a traditionally taboo way, then I must be nonjudgmental. Which is true). 

Maybe someday I’ll start charging hourly for my therapy sessions. I kid, I kid.

Anyways.

I wasn’t always like this, though. Like, you gotta start SOMEWHERE, right?! 

This fine internet man is one of those SOMEWHERES responsible for introducing me to a whole NEW realm of what it means to a certified freak. 

It’s circa 2013. It’s summertime in suburbia in New York. The windows are open and I feel a warm breeze coming in. Quite nice. It’s around 8PM.

I’m winding down my public chat on My Free Cams and about to go into accepting “Privates.” In Cam Land, there are plenty of ways to go about running your time on cam.

One of the most popular, and the way I rolled back then (and still do) is to dedicate a few hours to your room (AKA your public chat) encouraging tips from members, usually with some kind of a themed countdown show.

When that time is up, you move on to accept “Privates,” which means private 1 on 1 time that members pay for with you.

Usually I don’t even see the other person, so it’s like talking to a computer screen, but this particular evening had much more in store for me. 

This guy was a new member but I had seen him hanging in my room for a couple weeks, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Prior to the private, he had asked if I did “JOI fantasy” which basically means a dirty talking narrative to the dude as to how to beat his meat. Duh.

That’s like, the most common kink in Cam Land. Same with porn.

He also asked if I did “Femdom stuff.” While I’m not a domme by any means, I AM a kickass actress and love to channel my inner bitch and play a different character. Like, how fun. 

So when I logged on for our private sesh, I was surprised he had his camera on. Fine. Like I said, it’s a rarity but I never think anything of it. This guy was, like, 250 lbs and pretty short.

He was what looked like mid-thirties with a fresh dark brown bowl cut and was sitting shirtless in baby blue cotton boxers  in what looked like a fucking basement. Mom’s basement? We’ll never know. 

He instantly was all, “Tell me how worthless I am and how pathetic my virgin cock is.”

Sometimes in these moments (yes, this happens frequently too) I never know if they’re actually a virgin or if this is just the fantasy. But I don’t ask questions. I’m here to fulfill fantasies! 

So of course I went OFF. 

“YOU’RE THE BIGGEST PIECE OF SHIT FAT FUCKING SHRIMP DICK LOSER I’VE EVER MET IN MY LIFE. YOU’RE SO WORTHLESS YOU HAVE TO PAY ME TO TELL YOU HOW TO JERK YOUR PATHETIC DICK BECAUSE YOU CAN’T GET A REAL WOMAN TO DO IT.”

Now some Karens may be all, “OMFGGGG THAT’S SO MEAN HOW CAN YOU DO THAT?!?”

Karen, this is Fantasy Land. He is a grown ass, consenting man. I am a grown ass, consenting woman.

I am also a professional. He also signed up for this. Like, trust me.

HE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE’S GETTING INTO. THEY ALL DO. HE FUCKING LIKES IT. 

And if you know me to any degree, you know that this is me playing a character. Alix IRL is like, super fucking chill and levelheaded like a small blonde velour tracksuit-wearing zen master of sorts. 

I kept going. And going. And going. REAMING this guy a new asshole. 

And of course he was LOVING IT. 

So when it came down to the finish line (I can just tell, ya know?!) I told him to get ready and…

All of a sudden he stops what he’s doing and in roughly 1/20 of a second pulls some ninja shit and ROLLS BACKWARDS (but on his side so I could see the full profile of what’s happening), RAISES HIS LEGS OVER HIS FACE…

And while I’m over here still trying to figure out what the ACTUAL FUCK this man is doing…

He blows his load. 

IN HIS MOTHERFUCKING OPEN MOUTH. 

And THEN like it ain’t no thang, proceeds to hold his hands up to the camera to proudly show me that he had eaten the whole entire mess. 

ALL THE FROSTING OFF THE FUCKING CAKE. 

…then promptly said, “THANKS HAD FUN!” And logged off. 

…Leaving me sitting there in front of a black screen (kinda like when you watch too much Netflix and it asks “Are you still watching?”)

…wondering what the FUCK just happened. 

And that, my friends, was my first ever experience with CEI. 

I’ll let you figure out what it stands for. 

While I wouldn’t bat an eye if I encountered this…situation…nowadays…

I’m QUITE certain I went to bed without dinner that night. I just didn’t seem to be able to find my appetite. 

 

xo, alix 

 

Filed in: STORIES | By xoalynx | Leave a Comment

May 28, 2020

SCARY STORIES TO TELL BEFORE BED: THE PANTY MAN

 

Once upon a time, I was an 18-year-old bright eyed and bushy tailed college student who worked as a cashier at a convenience store.

Hey, we all gotta start somewhere.

This was actually a pretty sweet job because I worked with one of my friends, Tara, and there were, like, literally never any customers in the store so all I would do is clean, stock shelves and fuck around with Tara. 

One day I was on campus in between classes when I got a call from Tara, who sounded MANIC. Like, talking so fast I couldn’t hear a word she was saying. I was finally able to gather the gist of her message, which was equally a “WTF” moment for me that I had to verify the accuracy multiple times from her, just to make sure I was 100% clear on what I was hearing.  

We had this regular customer, Harold, who was about 60, worked at a factory, had missing teeth, was always wearing jeans and dirty t-shirts and reeked of old cigarettes. Harold would come in every single day for a Gatorade, Ritz crackers and sometimes an air freshener for his old crusty pickup truck.

But on this particular day, Harold had a surprise in store.  

And as to how Tara and Harold got into this conversation in the first place, I will never know. I don’t want to know. Some things are just better left untouched. 

Anyways. Apparently Harold had informed Tara that he had a HUGE panty fetish. 

Just your standard casual conversation. 

And not only that, but Harold also informed Tara that he would buy all of her panties AND give her a gift card to Victoria’s Secret so she could buy more. 

Yeeeeaaaah. 

Tara was not only calling to tell me this, but to also tell me that Harold had asked about involving me in the same offer.

What’s funny about this situation is that some people I’ve told about this were grossed out and couldn’t believe we did this. On the other hand, Tara and I just thought it was weird, random and also fucking hysterical. Like, WHO does this?

I still think it’s hilarious, P.S.

Zero fucks given.

But also, what the fuck else were we gonna do with all the underwear we owned? Eventually it would be thrown away. It seemed certifiably insane to us to NOT sell it.

It’s all in perspective, yo.

Being the mischief maker and hustler I am, it took all of 4 seconds to agree. 

Sell my panties that are collecting dust in my drawers to this man, make more money than I did in a week at the convenience store AND shop till I drop at VS?! Say no more!

So, that night, Tara and I raided our panty drawers and each put together a goodie bag for Harold to give to him next time he came in the store. Sure enough, like clockwork, the next afternoon Harold came clomping in with his old dirty boots, on the hunt for his Gatorade and Ritz crackers. 

Except this time when he went to pay for them, we nonchalantly handed him the two bags of panties and he wordlessly handed us each $200 cash in separate envelopes and a shiny pink VS gift card, grabbed his goods, and walked out the door.

Like, what could anyone possibly have to say in this situation anyways?

We were in business, baby. 

For the next few months, every week, Harold would come in and we would do the panty exchange. After I got rid of all the ones I didn’t wear anymore, I started hitting the dollar store to buy more and making a few hundred bucks off of Harold every week.

Not bad for a young lady who was pulling a grand total of $8 an hour at the store!

Tara and I were THRIVING. 

Do you remember being in high school and stealing whatever you could at Walmart, walking out without paying and feeling that RUSH?! (For me it was always Wet n Wild makeup. And on one occasion, sneakers. Yes, we ALL did dumb shit when we were teenagers. I’m no exception). 

That was the same exact rush I got every time I made a sale to Harold. Pair that dopamine hit with cash I wouldn’t otherwise have…I was HOOKED on the panty game. 

One night, Tara and I had negotiated a big deal with Harold. This time, we were going to give him an ENTIRE GROCERY BAG filled to the brim with our panties and he would give us $800 to split, plus $100 gift card to VS. EACH.

Harold hadn’t been in the store for a week, but he was down to meet us in the Walmart parking lot at midnight to do the exchange. 

Hey, I’m from the sticks in upstate New York. What more do we expect?!

So, there we were, in my old Toyota Corolla waiting on Harold to pull up. Blasting 50 Cent. True gangsters, indeed. We didn’t know for sure if Harold would even show up.

I mean, for a guy that worked at a factory (and for us), he was about to hand over a LOT of money. We thought maybe he was all talk.

But sure enough, a few minutes past midnight (the witching hour), we heard the sputtering of Harold’s rusty truck engine before we even saw the two beams of his headlights pull up right behind us. He pulled up, got out, and walked over to the driver’s side (my side) of the car. 

Now, I ain’t no dummy. I had the doors locked and the window cracked JUST enough to be able to slip Harold the bags. I also had the car still running in drive with my foot on the brake, so if he tried anything shady I would immediately gun it and leave him in the dust.

Maybe even run him over.

But trusty ol’ Harold skipped right up to the car with a Cheshire Cat grin on his face, clearly fucking stoked about his precious treasures that awaited. He handed me a fat envelope and I quickly handed him the bags, said “THANKS BYEEEEE“ and immediately peeled the FUCK out of there.

Like, I didn’t need that MF trying to follow me home, god forbid! 

Once we got out of the parking lot, I pulled over into a random apartment complex well out of sight of the road, turned the car off, turned on the lights and we counted our loot. It was all accounted for.

Even the gift cards. 

God DAMN, were we good!

But, as with any fairy tale, there is always an ending. Our panty hustle with Harold did indeed come to an end because after that night, Harold stopped coming to the store and we never heard from him again. 

He did pop in once, 6 months later when Tara was working, to get his Gatorade and Ritz crackers, but he didn’t say one word to her. It was as if the whole thing had never happened. 

Twilight Zone vibes, indeed. 

Later on, Tara informed me of one tiny little detail she had left out when first telling me this:

When Harold came into the store that last time and bent over in front of her to grab his Ritz crackers…

Her purple lace thong was peeking out of his jeans. 

Case closed. 

xo, al

Filed in: STORIES | By xoalynx | 2 Comments

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