Author: Stella

domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I ran a thumb along the seam of my black lace glove, savoring the slickness of the leather against my skin. The title—naughty slut, dominant bitch—they were just labels. To them, they were prayers whispered into the void. To me, they were tools.

Tonight, my tool was denial. Exquisite, slow, psychological denial. I pushed open the door, and the air shifted. Elias was already in position, knees pressed to the cold concrete, wrists secured behind him with thick, dark cuffs. He wasn’t looking at me; he wouldn’t dare until I permitted it.

Continue reading “Savoring My Power Over Him” →

domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Another one. Always the same hopeful, pathetic look in their eyes. As if I would be anything more than a fleeting fantasy for their miserable lives. “Bonjour, Monsieur,” I purred, my voice dripping with an accent thicker than the Parisian fog. He flinched, already knowing what was coming. Good. Fear is the first step to understanding your place.

He mumbled a greeting, as his gaze darted around my dimly lit salon. The velvet curtains, the antique furniture, the subtle scent of expensive perfume…it was all designed to overwhelm. To make them feel small. And it worked. Every time. “You are late,” I stated, not as a question, but as a cold, hard fact. They call me a bitch. Bien sûr. What did they expect? A gentle caress? A whispered endearment? Ridicule.

Continue reading “Pathetic” →

vampire domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Stalking me through the dim labyrinth of the old city, the vampire had likely intended to make me his next meal. His kind always did—arrogant, immortal creatures who thought they were untouchable. But I knew his type well. Desire coiled beneath the surface of his insidious grace, an itch beyond the thirst for my veins.

I let him follow me into the shadows of an abandoned theater, the scent of dust and decay clinging to the velvet seats. Then I turned to face him, arms crossed beneath my chest, the curve of my corset pressing my body in ways I knew would taunt him. “You’ve been watching me,” I murmured, tilting my head. “Do I fascinate you?”

Continue reading “Stella The Vampire Tamer” →

findom blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

The worst color in the world is the pale yellow bubble hovering over my chat box. It means they are typing. They are pouring out their sad feelings, treating the glowing screen like a confessional booth, all for free. They know I trade attention for currency. Simple, brutal, and utterly true. I’m Quebecoise, which means I’m precise about my costs, and the cost of having me pretend to care about your awful Tuesday is non-negotiable.

Right now, it’s Edgar. He’s forty-something, lives somewhere humid, and sends me paragraphs about his failing marriage and his collection of vintage model trains. He keeps sending me these long, dense messages, hoping that sheer volume of misery will somehow earn him a response. But he’s not getting one unless he pays.

Continue reading “the pale yellow bubble hovering over my chat box” →

breeding

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My hand trembled slightly as I pulled it back from Mr. Thorne’s firm grip. This was the biggest deal of my career, and it was done. “To celebrate, Stella,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “you must join me for dinner.” I accepted. The restaurant was upscale, the drinks flowed, and his eyes, dark and intense, seemed to see through me, past the business woman, to something deeper.

Dinner ended, but the night was young. “One more drink?” he asked, his hand lightly on my arm as we stepped out into the cool city air. The ‘one more drink’ became two, then three, in a dimly lit bar where the music was soft and the world outside faded. He leaned closer, his scent, a mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely masculine, filling my senses. My usual discipline, my careful boundaries, began to dissolve.

Continue reading “The Biggest Deal of My Career Phonesex” →

sissy bitch

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I checked my watch. Exactly 8:00 PM. No need for rushing. That is the first rule of control. A Domme never rushes. The air was cool. I like it that way; it makes the submissive shiver a little, even without fear. He was already kneeling on the thick, dark rug, waiting. He never looked up until I told him to.

Today, he was wearing the pale pink satin nightie I had selected, the cheap lace scratching his skin. His face was painted heavy, the makeup slightly smudged around the eyes from nervous anticipation. He was not a man now; he was my project. He was my sissy bitch.

Continue reading “The Rules of Control” →

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” →