Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My basement isn’t for old boxes. It’s for pleasure. And this week, it held Jacques. The chains were thick but soft. Not to hurt him, just to hold him. He was stretched out on the cold stone floor, a thick mat beneath him, with his arms and legs secured. On the first day, he looked excited, but a little nervous too. I just smiled. “Welcome,” I whispered, and his whole body tensed.

I started slow. Just walking around him, my bare feet silent on the floor. I wore a thin robe, the silk brushing my skin. His eyes, usually so confident, were wide and fixed only on me. I could feel his gaze like a physical touch. I bent down, just out of his reach, letting my robe open a little, showing the curve of my thigh. He made a low sound, a guttural groan.

My Basement

On day two, I brought music. Soft, slow. I danced for him in a sensual sway. My clothes were even less the second day. Just a bra and tiny shorts. I moved close. So close, he could smell my perfume and feel the warmth of my skin when I spun near him. His chest rose and fell fast. I watched his Adam’s apple bobbing. He couldn’t speak.

Mid-week, the teasing grew more intense. I would sit on the edge of the mat, just a few inches from his face. My legs were open and his sight filled with my sheer lace panties. “Are you still enjoying your stay?” I’d whisper, running a finger along his jaw, then down his neck, stopping just before his chest.

By day six, he was a wreck. His hair was messy, his eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep and constant frustration. He hadn’t seen the sun in days, only the dim lights of my dungeon. I wore nothing and straddled his waist, my hips grinding slowly, but never touching him. He would try to arch up, try to reach, but the chains held him tight.

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

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