More from Delaney

• Delaney-Babysitter For Hire

  October 2, 2026

  BABYSITTER

  Evenings · Strawberry hair · Call Delaney

  The flyer went up at the laundromat on Tuesday. Pink index card, strawberry sticker in the corner, phone number written twice in case the first one smeared. Delaney did not write fantasy on it. She wrote babysitter. Reliable. Evenings. References if you ask nice.

  He called from the parking lot like men do when they have already decided. She answered with laundry in the background and the same sweet voice she used on the card. “You saw the ad,” she said. “Good. Tell me if this is actually about a babysitter or if you circled my number because the handwriting looked like trouble.”

  He confessed before she had to drag it. Cheating sat in his throat. Wife at her sister’s. Kids theoretically asleep in a house he was not in. Delaney let the confession hang and then she put the role on like a sweater. Girl next door. Daddy’s girl if he earned the nickname. Babysitter if he needed the door closed and the TV on low.

  Babysitter is a costume that does work. She described coming over after the flyer, kicking her shoes off in a hallway that was not hers, asking if he wanted her to check the rooms or check on him. Fantasy fuck wearing cotton and a fake schedule. She kept the kids out of the story except as a locked door and a reason he had to whisper.

  He wanted cream pie like it was a punchline. She made it a chore. Stay inside the fantasy. Tell her where. Tell her after. Cheating sounds uglier when a girl next door repeats it back without flinching. Delaney does not flinch. She giggles, and that is worse.

  Babysitter again when he tried to skip to the drive home. She made him earn the car. First the couch. Then the hallway. Then the apology he was going to give his wife that she would help him rehearse and ruin. Confession is not a cleanse. It is fuel.

  She walked him through the ride she always writes into these calls. Not a speech about innocence. A girl with strawberry hair who knows how a man drives when he has already decided. Hand on the gearshift. Seat leaned back in a dark lot behind the laundromat where her flyer still hung. Fantasy fuck with the dome light off.

  Halfway she flipped sweet. Thanked him for calling the number on the card. Then she put the filth back in. Cream pie said plainly. Daddy’s girl said like a dare. Babysitter said like a job she intended to keep posting.

  She made him finish on the thought of walking back into the laundromat tomorrow and seeing the card still there, her number still wet from someone else’s pen. Extreme play, for her, is leaving evidence on corkboard. Anything goes if he keeps the story straight.

  She stayed on while the washers kicked into spin because she was actually at the laundromat. Girl next door doing laundry. Babysitter on the card. Cheating on his end of the line. She told him to go home the long way and not to take her flyer down unless he was going to call again. Then she hung up and straightened the thumbtack.

  If he wants the next evening blocked off he can come to kinks-n-teasephonesex.com/delaney and ask for Delaney. Bring the ad if he tore it down. She has more cards.

  CALL DELANEY
  877-695-6869 ext 605 LEAVE THE FLYER UP

• Panty Fetish Phone Sex-Soft Obsession

  September 16, 2026

  Delaney

  🍓 Panty Fetish Phone Sex · Stolen Pink Bow 🍓

  The dryer buzzed and I stole them back before he could pretend he had not noticed. Pink ones. Tiny bow. Still a little warm. I sat on the washer with the panties in my fist and called him like I had caught a criminal. “Don’t ask if they are yours. They were in your basket. Now they are a problem.” Panty fetish phone sex does not need a speech when the evidence is already in my hand.

  He tried to sound casual. I made him describe the fabric from memory. Lace edge. Cotton crotch. The exact shade of pink. When he got one detail wrong I clicked my tongue and held the panties closer to the phone. “Try again.” His voice changed. Cute is a weapon. Naughty is the point.

  I hopped off the washer in a tank top and pressed the cloth to my mouth like a secret I was willing to share badly. Panty fetish is not polite. It is a strawberry-haired girl making a grown man jealous of a scrap of pink. I told him to picture them on his face while I stayed dressed and mean about it. He did. I could hear it.

  Say thank you for the theft.

  “Say thank you for the theft.” He said it. I paid him in detail. I had worn them to the store. I thought about him in the frozen aisle. I came home and decided the laundry room was better than the bedroom because the machines hum and nobody knocks. I slid them down, then snapped them back on so he could hear the elastic.

  Strawberries printed on a pillow in the other room. Radio too loud. Me telling him he could touch himself only if he admitted he wanted the panties more than he wanted to look respectable. He admitted it. I made him say panties until the word sounded filthy and a little funny. That mix is my favorite.

  Halfway through I put them over the speaker and talked through the cloth. Muffled on purpose. “This is what you get instead of me in the room.” Panty fetish phone sex is a tease with proof. I sat on the warm dryer, ground once, stopped, and asked if that counted. It did not count. I said so and started the cycle again.

  He wanted them mailed. I told him mailing is for men who last. Tonight he gets the sound of me stuffing them in my pocket and threatening to wear them to breakfast. I listed hiding places like dares. Sock drawer. Glove box. Inside jacket at work. Each one came with a follow-up call in my head. Lunchtime. “Are they still warm in your mind or did you wimp out?”

  I edged him with chores. Fold. Stop. Smell. Stop. I made him invent a lie he would tell if someone found them. He invented a bad lie. I laughed and made him invent a worse one. The dryer ticked. I used the ticking like a metronome. Every beep was a no.

  When I let him finish it was because the cycle ended, not because he earned a ceremony. I told him the panties were going back in my pocket. He could think about the pocket all afternoon. That is panty fetish phone sex when the girl looks sweet and keeps trophies.

  I poured cereal. I did not stay on to tuck him in. If he wants the next pair he can stop by kinks-n-teasephonesex.com/delaney and ask. Nicely. Or not. I like both, and I still have the pink ones.

  🍓 CALL DELANEY
  877-695-6869 ext 605 🎀 STEAL THE NEXT PAIR
  Official Profile

  Delaney · Panty Fetish Phone Sex · Strawberry Cutie · Stolen Pink