Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

They come to me looking for control. No, worse. They come pretending they want it, like submission is some romantic fantasy spun from silk and flowers and candlelight. But I must disillusion you. Control isn’t soft. It’s the echo of a belt on bare skin. It’s the look in someone’s eyes when they realize they’ve gone too far and there’s no going back. I don’t do gentle. I don’t do forgiveness. And I certainly don’t do second chances. I’m the consequence you didn’t think you’d earn.

Last night, a man called me “Stella, darling” during a session. Not “Ma’am.” Not “Mistress.” Darling. I didn’t correct him. I let him ruin himself with his own carelessness. We were in the basement. The one with the cold concrete floor and the steel cuffs bolted to the wall. He was on his knees, trembling. Not from fear (yet), but from anticipation. That always amuses me. The hope humans carry, even when they’re already doomed to fail.

Power Is Nothing Without Control

I circled him slowly, as my boots clicked loudly on the cold floor. “You addressed me improperly,” I said, calmly. He blinked. “I…I didn’t mean to.” I picked up the cane. Not the light one. The black rattan. The one that leaves marks that don’t fade for weeks.

“Meaning is irrelevant. Disrespect is absolute.” He knew he had messed up and tried to speak, but as soon as he opened his mouth I struck him across the shoulders. Once. Twice. A third time for the ‘darling.’ “You will count,” I said. He gasped. “One… two… three…”

“Four.” I snapped the cane across his thighs. He shouted. “Five.” Across the ribs. By seven, he was sobbing. By nine, he was begging. Properly this time. Not “please” like a pet, but like a man who finally understands pain. At ten, I dropped the cane. “You will clean it,” I said, kicking it at his feet. “Lick the dust off. Then you’ll thank me.”

He hesitated. Just for a second. That’s all I needed. “No? Then you’re no longer mine. You’re nothing. Get out. And if you ever speak my name again, I’ll ruin your reputation before I ruin your body.” He crawled. Cried. Begged to stay. I refused.

The next morning, a single red rose appeared at my doorstep. No note. I left it there to rot.

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

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