Author: Stella

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

A leprechaun, of all things. He was no taller than my forearm, with a mischievous glint in his eyes and hair the color of a freshly sprouted leaf. His beard smelled faintly of earth after rain. My first reaction was an involuntary chuckle, then a shiver of something else. He introduced himself simply as Finn and his voice was a low trill that seemed to echo from the hollow of a forest.

We met in my basement. A room I’d painstakingly transformed into a sanctuary of shadows. Blackened velvet draped the walls, iron chains lay coiled on the table and a single, dim bulb hung from the ceiling, throwing a jaundiced glow over the concrete floor. I wore my usual leather corset, with the buckle fastened just tight enough that my breathing hitched with each inhale. My eyes, dark with anticipation, met his. Bright emeralds flickering with hunger.

Continue reading “The Leprechaun” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I pause at the entrance of the little bar I keep for my “sessions.” It’s a dimly lit back room behind a row of forgotten bottles. Inside, the air smells of cheap drinks and old carpet, and the low hum of a jukebox plays a blues riff that feels like a warning. Not for me, of course. For him.

He’s already there, perched on a cracked leather chair, with his eyes fixed on the floor. He’s a regular. We’ll call him Aaron, though we never use names that aren’t given. Tonight, his limits are a blank page and our job is to write the story together. “Stella,” he says, as his voice trembles with a mixture of anticipation and fear. I offer him a smile that’s half invitation, half challenge. I step closer, as the click of my stilettos punctuate the silence.

Continue reading “No Taboo Sessions” →

sissy blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

He is my sissy. My apprentice. The canvas on which I will paint obedience. But he doesn’t quite know it yet. He stands in the hallway, trembling, clutching the thin, pastel cardigan I chose for him. His hair is slicked back in an artificial bob with the ends dyed a pastel pink that catches the light like bruised roses. He looks at me with a mixture of awe and terror, before his eyes dart to the leather cuffs hanging on the coat rack and the polished wooden bench where I will have him sit.

“Welcome, Alex,” I say, edged with authority. I watch the subtle shiver that ripples through his shoulders. He nods and whispers, “Yes, Mistress.” I guide him inside my apartment. The bench is already prepared. An ornate iron frame draped with a black silk sheet and a small brass bowl bearing a single, polished ruby at its center. I instruct him to strip. His hands trembled as he removes each piece of clothing until he stands there completely naked. I hand him a pair of thin lace panties and he looks at me, puzzled. “Put them on,” I say, calmly. “You’re a girl now.”

Continue reading “The canvas on which I will paint obedience.” →

cuckold

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

His name was Daniel. He was devoted in the way that every part of him was constructed for my worship. He brought me coffee every morning. His hands trembled slightly, his eyes were already downcast in anticipation of my day. He kept my world in a perfect, silent order. It was too clean, though. That type of perfection is a vacuum and I am not a creature of neat spaces.

I chose Marcus for his crude vitality. Where Daniel was porcelain, Marcus was raw iron. I didn’t invite him over. Instead, I commanded Daniel to arrange it. The look on his face when I issued his instructions was priceless. “You will serve us drinks, you will address him as ‘Sir.’ Most importantly, you will watch.”

Continue reading “Devoted Daniel Gets Cucked” →

slut

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

His name is Mark. He is tall, dark‑haired, and he wears a suit that looks like it was made for him. I felt a strange heat in my chest when I saw him. I told myself it was just nerves because I really needed the merger to go through.

We sat across a long table. Papers were spread out, charts on the screen, coffee steaming in the corners. I asked about his company’s goals. He answered with a calm voice that made my thoughts drift. I could see his eyes flicker to my lips when I spoke.

Continue reading “I Wanted To Rip The Suit Right Off Of Him” →

control

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.

Continue reading “Power Is Nothing Without Control” →

cuck

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I have always liked the dark side of control. Sometimes, I think back to the hallway of my old school, where the smell of chalk and old books mixed with the scent of my very hot teacher’s cologne. Mr. Harris was my English teacher for three years. He was kind, with a soft voice that could make Shakespeare feel like a whisper in a lover’s ear. To me, anyway.

After graduation I left the town. I moved to the city, and learned how to dress in black leather and how to make a command sound like a promise. I became a domme. This entire time, I kept Mr. Harris’s name in a notebook with his birthday, his favorite coffee, even the way he tapped his pen when he was thinking. It was a secret map, like a game that only I could see.

Continue reading “Cucking The Hottest Teacher At My School” →

domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My phone buzzes. Another message from a man who thinks he’s ready. “I want to serve,” he writes in clumsy English. “I can take anything.” This made me smile. They always say that.

I reply in French first. “Tu penses que t’es fort? Viens me prouver.” Then, in English. “Be here at 9. Naked. On your knees.” I wear their desperation like perfume. Tonight’s guest arrives and I circle him, watching how he reacts. He licks his lips when I step close. Wrong move.

Continue reading ““I want to serve”” →

faggot domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

A message pings on my screen. “Hi, I’m Tim. I’ve never done this before. Can I pay you to tell me what to do?” His profile was bland. Just a blurry photo of a shaggy-haired man in a wrinkled shirt. Beta. The kind who needs a leash. Perfect. Findom is a game of hunger and humiliation, and I play it well.

He arrives at my door, nervous, clutching a duffel bag like a shield. “I-I just wanted to help,” he stammers, handing me a thick envelope of cash. I smirk. “Strip,” I order. He hesitates for a moment, then peels off his clothes layer by layer, revealing a wiry frame.

Continue reading “I’ve never done this before. Can I pay you to tell me what to do?” →

nye domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I smooth my black corset, the red lace trim catching the dim light. Tonight is New Year’s Eve, but there’ll be no drinks for me. The only thing on my menu tonight is the sound of surrender. Liam arrives at 11:59pm. His breath fogs in the cold air as he knocks. I let him in. He wears the plain gray shirt I told him to wear. No collar yet. Not tonight. Not until the clock breaks.

My room is a cathedral of shadows. Candles flicker on the floor. Their wax pools underneath them like dark hearts. The air smells of fear. Liam’s favorite song plays on loop. Clair de Lune, the keys falling like rain. I watch him shiver. He knows what to do. “You know the rules,” I say. My voice is soft. He nods as I tie his hands behind his back with the red ribbon I saved for this night. My favorite color. It matches the little scars on his wrists from last year’s celebration.

Continue reading “New Year’s Eve” →