Category: power exchange

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Dale was a man of quiet competence, held together by starched collars and a stoic demeanor that begged to be dismantled. I didn’t just want his attention, I wanted his surrender. We’d been flirting (well, he had been anyway) for months and he finally broke the stalemate one evening as everyone else was getting ready to leave for the day.

“Still working, Stella?” he asked. His voice sounded a little more vulnerable than usual. “No, actually,” I replied, standing slowly. “I was waiting for you.” He gave me a puzzled look, but I didn’t fill in the gap. Instead, I let the silence stretch until the air between us felt heavy and electric. “I think you’ve been looking for things you aren’t allowed to find, Dale.”

Continue reading “Competence” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

He arrived at ten sharp, wearing an expensive suit and a Rolex that could’ve funded a small country. He smiled in a fake and predacious way when he saw me. “Stella,” he said, “I hear you’re an experience worth every penny.” He placed his leather briefcase on the mahogany desk and opened it, revealing a thick envelope full of cash, a stack of credit cards, and a signed contract. The initial request was that he wanted a session, but I wanted his ego. He just didn’t know it yet.

“Take a seat,” I said, gesturing to the leather chair across from me. The leather squeaked as he obliged, as his posture already flattened under his own weight. I let him linger a moment, watching his eyes dart to the sleek Manhattan skyline through the floor‑to‑ceiling windows. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to recognize that he thought he owned everything that lay beyond that glass.

Continue reading “worth every penny” →

mechanic roleplay

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

As I stood at the grease-stained counter of Miller’s Auto, I knew this conversation wasn’t gonna go as planned. “Three hundred and forty dollars,” Dave said, not looking up from his ledger. He was a man composed entirely of callouses and indifference. “New alternator, labor, plus the diagnostic fee…tax…”

I looked at the counter, then at my hands. Three hundred and forty dollars was a fantasy. My bank account was a haunting echo of two-digit numbers and my rent was looming like a storm cloud. I thought about the rusted sedan in the bay behind him. It was my only tether to a job that was already dangling by a thread. Without that car, I was nothing. Without that car, I was back on the street.

Continue reading “Miller’s Auto Shop” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I flip the page. The paper makes a crisp sound against the silence. “Section 1: Manual Stimulation Protocol,” I recite, reading aloud as if plainly listing the maintenance steps for a failing engine. “Begin the rhythmic application of pressure in accordance with the provided metronome beat. Speed is currently set to sixty beats per minute. Any deviation in tempo will be noted as a failure in mechanical compliance.”

On my monitor, I watch him. He is trembling. Most men think this is about desire. They are wrong. It is about total hydraulic submission. It is about treating his body as an extension of my own apparatus. “Maintain grip,” I command. My tone is flat and clinical. “Apply lubricant to the friction points to ensure smooth operation of the interface. You are not permitted to deviate from the prescribed movement. If the system experiences an overload, you are to suppress the response. Stalling the mechanism is strictly prohibited.”

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Kinky Kara 1-844-332-2639 ext 306

I loved being in charge. Being the boss gave me a sense of power like nothing before. I was the person who called all the shots. I told everyone what to do. Either they did as I said or they find another place to work. Normally, that is the way things worked at most companies. Typically, this is the way my office operated as well. That is, until this day. Today was different. I found myself working a little later than usual. I could tell most of the cubicles were empty, and 95 percent of my staff had gone for the day, except for my assistant. He usually came to offer his services one last time before heading out for the day. Today was not the same. Continue reading “Power Shift” →

Dance On my pole

TS Alexus 1844-332-2639 Ext 349

Slide over here, little sissy girl. Let me have a good look at you. Don’t play shy with me now! You told me how much you wanted this. Your first time with a Goddess like me. I can see how excited you are inside of that slutty, lingerie you’ve put on just for me.

You said you wanted us to match, and we do. Suspender stockings, crotchless panties in soft pink with push-up bras to match. I sure feel girlie, do you? Your six-inch heels make such a pretty sound on the floor as you saunter back and forth. You look ready to dance on my pole now, so like I said, “Slide over here, little sissy girl.”

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Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I stood in front of Mr. Henderson’s mahogany desk, clutching a stack of files like a shield. My crime? I had accidentally redirected the annual budget report to the entire company’s Slack channel instead of just the accounting department. “Amber,” Mr. Henderson said, as he adjusted his silk tie. His eyes were locked on mine. “Do you have any idea how bad this is? I’ve fired people for less!”

I winced. “I thought I was just sharing the link to the sign-in spreadsheet, sir. It was a slip of the touchpad…an honest mistake!” He leaned back, as his chair creaked ominously. “A slip. Right. You’ve been a liability lately, Amber. I should let you go.” My stomach did a slow, painful somersault. I had a car payment, an apartment, and an absolute inability to function in any other work environment. I needed to fix this. Fast.

Continue reading “I’ve fired people for less!” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I sometimes scroll through the endless river of X influencers and meme‑lords and dip my finger into the darker current where the lonely, the desperate, the sub‑tethered souls cling to the glow of their screens. I’m not here for the likes. I’m here for the whispers that crawl under the door of my inbox.

Tonight a man named “Crumbling” posts a selfie of his gaunt face, half‑lit by a cheap LED strip, and captioned “Just another night feeling useless.” I smile and type “Pathetic. You are a toy that needs a master to give you purpose.” It’s a comment I’ve rehearsed a thousand times and lands where his ego is fragile enough to shatter. Oops!

Continue reading “lonely, desperate, sub‑tethered souls” →

Indulge In Sadomasochism

Francie 1844-332-2369 xXx 208

Mmm, the title caught your attention. You’re curious to indulge, and that’s okay. It’s a little taboo and misunderstood, yet you can’t help much lust for pain. Don’t feel shamed by the ache inside of you; it’s basically Newton’s Third Law in motion. Fucking physics. You want to hurt… and I want to hurt you. I’m the action, and you’ll be my reaction.

It’s a beautiful partnership when a Sadist finds a masochist. A true masochist will desire to accept my pain even outside of the bedroom, so long as it brings me pleasure. Imagine yourself at the kitchen sink washing dishes after dinner when I slip up behind you. My arms wrap around you from behind, and my lips tease your ear. Of course, your cock stirs at my touch, but your nervous system instantly goes on alert. Just my predatory arms around you sends you into fight or flight, and it should because I’d reach over the sink and turn the faucet temperature all the way to the red.

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Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

When I first saw Chrissy, she was perched on a cracked vinyl chair in a downtown laundromat. Just a thin silhouette hunched over her laundry basket, waiting for the dryer to cycle. The dim fluorescent lights flickered above her, casting a sickly glow that made her skin look sickly and almost translucent.

“Hey,” I said, sliding onto the bench opposite her. “Are you okay?” She lifted her head, looking sad. “I’m Chrissy,” she whispered. “I’m just tired of being the joke everyone laughs at.” I studied her for a moment. “Why do you think you’re a joke, babe?” She sighed, as if she had explained this at least a hundred times before. “I know I’m not the kind of girl anyone wants. I’m so tired of being the ugly neighborhood sissy who only gets hit on during last call…But if someone could make me beautiful, like a girl that rich and successful men actually want…I’ll do anything.”

Continue reading “Sissy Chrissy Gets a Makeover” →