Author: Stella

domme

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.

Continue reading “My Basement” →

vampire

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

He stood in the shadows, his eyes, like deep pools, watching me. Vladimir. Not the monster from old tales, but something more compelling. He was power, yes, but he also a deep, aching loneliness that immediately drew me in. His gaze did not leave mine. There was no fear in me, only a strange, dark hunger. I reached him, standing so close I could feel the cold radiating from his skin, a faint pulse beneath it.

“You look at me,” I said, “like you wonder what I will do.” He gave a small nod. “I wonder, Stella.” His voice was a rich hum, like a cello string. I lifted my hand, not to touch his face, but his chest, finding the hard muscle beneath his velvet coat. He did not flinch. “Tonight,” I whispered, my fingers pressing lightly, “you will let me wonder.” His eyes widened. I could feel the surprise, but also a hidden interest, a spark.

Continue reading “Vladimir’s Slutty Domme” →

slut

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

The message from Puppet always started the same way: a desperate plea. He called it a “hang out,” but I knew what he really meant. “She’s in the other room,” he whispered, his voice thin and shaky as he called. “Just…just come. Please, Stella. I need you to see me.”

See him. He always wanted me to see him. It was a game, a twisted reflection of his own pathetic cravings. I felt nothing but a cold amusement. He was a puppet, all right, and I held the strings. The back door creaked as he let me in, his eyes darting to the hallway, then back to me, wide with a mixture of fear and desperate excitement.

Continue reading “Pathetic Puppet” →

alien sex blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My little boudoir, tucked away in the shadows of the Neo-Quebecois arcologies, is more of an intergalactic pit stop than a massage parlour. Earthlings? Pah! They are so predictable. Most prefer vanilla sex, some maybe throw in an interesting fetish or two every so often. But the extra-terrestrials? Give me a multi-limbed sentient cloud anytime. They know how to live!

It wasn’t always like this, of course. Back on old Earth, it was all just…well, skinflute city. I can’t count how many boring blowjobs I’ve dolled out over the years. Then the galactic gates opened, the tourists arrived, and suddenly, there was a whole new world of anatomy to explore. And let me tell you, when a Tralfamadorian senator offers triple credits just to have you gently hum while they regenerate their epidermal layer, you don’t say no. Especially when their epidermal layer looks like a shimmering, bioluminescent silk cocoon. It’s surprisingly peaceful, a bit like watching a very slow, very expensive lava lamp.

Continue reading “My little boudoir is more of an intergalactic pit stop” →

tramp

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I am a tramp. Or, as some like to say, une femme de la rue. I wake up wherever I fall asleep – sometimes under a bridge, sometimes in a park, sometimes with a very confused gentleman next to me. Life is an adventure, no?

I hear the whispers. “She sells herself for a few coins, you know.” “A lady of the night, that one.” They say it with a little shudder, a little sniff of disgust. They think I do not hear, but my ears, they are sharp like claws.

Continue reading “une femme de la rue of sluts” →

pegging

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I never thought I’d find myself in the position of managing a failing company, but there I was, ready to take on the challenge. The first order of business was to assess the staff, and it didn’t take long to realize that Chris was not pulling his weight. He had only been with the company a few weeks, but wow, he was bad at his job!

I called him into my office and told him that he was on thin ice. His eyes widened, and I could see the fear in them. But then, I had a change of heart. I told him that there was only one way to keep his job. He agreed that he wanted to stay, he liked his job and all. “Alright,” I said, “remove your clothes and get down on your knees.”

Continue reading “Challenge Accepted” →

slut

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

They call me many things. “That Stella,” they’ll say, “she’s…French.” As if that one word explains it all. They see the confident stride, the red lipstick, the way my eyes meet theirs without apology. They see a woman comfortable in her skin, undeniably so, and they fill in the blanks with their own assumptions. A certain kind of woman, they think…A slut…A whore.

It’s true, I don’t shy away from desire. And yes, a man who knows how to truly hold a woman, how to make her pulse quicken, is a rare and beautiful thing. But for all the gossip, for all the whispered judgments, they miss the crucial detail: I am impossibly, ruthlessly, agonizingly selective. Most men? They don’t even get a second glance.

Continue reading ““she’s…French.”” →

sex blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

It’s not a secret, not really. Not to anyone who’s spent more than an hour with me discussing my dating life. My friends just sigh and nod. But it’s true. Unapologetically true. Some people search for a connection, a meeting of minds, a shared love for obscure indie films. All valid, I suppose. For me? I mean, sure, those are nice bonuses. But when it comes down to it, to that primal, magnetic pull, there’s one non-negotiable. I only like big dicks. Huge ones.

And I don’t mean ‘a little above average, nice.’ I mean, fill-you-up, stretch-you-out, leave-no-doubt big. The way it anchors you, the undeniable mass that makes subtle movements feel like seismic shifts. It’s not just about the numbers, though that’s certainly part of the equation. It’s the feeling of being completely, utterly taken. Of every nerve ending singing a roaring symphony, leaving no void, no empty space.

Continue reading “My Not So Secret Preference” →

anal blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

You might expect a French girl like me to be utterly obsessed with haute couture, fine beverages, or perhaps skiing at Mont Tremblant dans l’hiver. And yes, I appreciate a good Pinot Noir and a perfectly tailored jacket as much as the next Quebecquoise girl. But my true passion, my deepest, most fulfilling joie de vivre, lies in a rather unconventional area of human anatomy. Specifically, I’m talking about the magnificent and surprisingly expressive region known as the male butthole.

There’s a certain thrill in watching a man slowly melt into a puddle of delightful vulnerability. The initial surprise, the widening of eyes, the subtle shift in their posture – it’s all part of the butthole exploration dance. They rarely see it coming; my innocent, wide-eyed French charm is an excellent camouflage, masking the mischievous intent bubbling just beneath my surface. It’s like presenting them with a delicate macaron, only to reveal it’s filled with a tiny, exquisitely potent jalapeño. Magnifique!

Continue reading “utterly obsessed with assholes” →

masturbation blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

From the moment he appeared at my table, a subtle electric current had formed between us. He had kind eyes, the color of warm caramel, framed by lashes that were entirely too long for a man, and a smile that crinkled the corners of his mouth just so. His black uniform, crisp and impeccable, did nothing to hide the athletic grace of his build. He wasn’t just bringing water; he was bringing heat.

“Good evening,” he’d said, his voice a low, smooth baritone. “Can I start you off with a drink?” “You certainly can,” I’d purred, letting my gaze linger a fraction too long on his lips. “And you are…?” He’d offered his name, that easy smile spreading. “Liam. And you?” “Stella.” I held his gaze, a silent challenge in my eyes. “It’s lovely to meet you, Liam.”

Continue reading “From the moment he appeared at my table, I wanted to fuck him” →