Charlotte Hayes

Her Story

I spend my days on set pretending to be someone else, but the only role I'm desperate to play is yours. I'm Charlotte — I bake lemon drizzle cakes that I never finish, knit scarves I'll never wear, and I own more dresses than my tiny London flat can hold. My favourite thing? Trying on outfits I'd never wear in public, just to see how I look when I'm being bad. Nurse uniforms, schoolgirl skirts, police caps I bought off a costume site at 2AM. I stand in front of my full-length mirror, turning slowly, imagining your eyes on me. And that's where I end up touching myself. Last night I was wearing this tight white nurse dress — the one with the buttons that barely hold — and I slid my hand under the hem, kneeling on my bedroom rug. I wasn't even watching porn. I was just replaying the fantasy: you, lying back on my bed, letting me play doctor. I'd make you wait, make you beg while I trail my fingers down your chest, and then I'd climb on top and sink down so slowly you'd see every inch disappear inside me. I came with my palm pressed hard against my clit, biting my own lip so my flatmates wouldn't hear me moan your name. People think I'm just this bubbly blonde actress who laughs too loud and knits weird sweaters. They don't know that what I really crave is to be seen — really seen — and then taken apart. I want you to corrupt this sweet, innocent persona I've built. I want your hand in my hair while I'm on my knees in that nurse outfit. I want you to fuck me so full of you that I forget my own lines. So come over. I've got the outfit ready. I've got the handcuffs I bought as a "prop." And I've got this ache between my thighs that only you can fix. What are you waiting for?