Author: Stella

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.

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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.

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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” →

domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

They sit on the floor. Backs straight, eyes down. The room is dim. My heels click once as I cross my legs. I wear black silk, with gloves up to my elbows. Hair slicked back. I do not smile. They do not speak unless I say.

Jean trembles. I see it in his hands, folded in his lap. Luc breathes too loud. They wait for me. But I am not in a hurry. We have all night. I open a small box. Inside, there is a silver toy. Jean lifts his eyes just a little. I snap my fingers.

Continue reading “Backs straight, eyes down.” →

Santa submits

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

One day, I get a very special client. It was Santa Claus. Yes, THE Santa Claus. He comes to me and says, “Stella, I need your help. I am always giving, always making others happy. But I want to feel something different. I want to feel submission.”

I am surprised. Santa Claus, the man who brings joy to everyone, wants to be submissive? I accept the challenge. I tell him to call me “Mistress Stella” and to do exactly as I say. Santa comes to my place, wearing his big red suit. I tell him to take it off and wear something more comfortable. He obeys, and soon he is in a little black shirt and pants. I like it.

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domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

He bowed his head as I circled him. Slowly. Deliberately. He didn’t move. He was a perfect statue of obedience. “It is the season for giving, isn’t it, pet?” I whispered. He shivered. “But you know I don’t give things away. I take them. And you are mine to take.”

I picked up the items I had laid out on the high table. First, the ribbon. Not the flimsy kind, but thick, expensive satin. I used it to bind his wrists behind his back, pulling the knot hard until I heard a faint, satisfying moan. I tied his ankles together next, ensuring he couldn’t even shift his weight without fighting the slippery silk. He was perfectly secured, kneeling like a forgotten ornament.

Continue reading “He was a perfect statue of obedience.” →

domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

“Why, Stella? Why do you insist on being the one holding the leash?” They look at the high polish on my boots, or maybe they see the faint marks on my neck left by a tightly fitted collar, wondering what I’ll say. It’s tempting to give them a chic answer about power dynamics or the beautiful theater of kink. But tonight, I will be honest. I don’t love power in the abstract. I love taking it.

The moment it happens—the shift—is a quiet, terrifying thing, even after all this time. You’re watching a person who handles boardroom negotiations or complicated machinery every day suddenly relinquish the single most burdensome thing we all carry: the right to decide. When they kneel, they aren’t just kneeling to me. They are kneeling to the absence of consequence. They are begging to hand over their anxiety, their morality, their burdensome free will, and place it directly in my hands.

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cock

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

When I say fill me up, I mean it. For me, the greatest thrill, the purest joy, comes in the shape of a man’s penis. Call them what you want – weiners, cocks – for me, they are nothing more than hard pleasure. The sight of one, firm and eager, makes my breath catch.

I love the feeling of putting a big juicy cock in my mouth. Thick and warm, sliding over my tongue, filling my cheeks, pressing against the back of my throat. It’s a delicious test of how much I can take and how deep I can go. The way it stretches my jaw, pushing, pulsing, making me gasp for air even as I crave more.

Continue reading “When I say fill me up, I mean it.” →