Category: sexual fetish

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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spanking

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

We were in the artisanal coffee shop downtown. Michael was staring intensely at a pastry tower, when his lower lip starting to tremble. “No, Michael,” I whispered, grabbing his arm so tightly I risked interrupting his circulatory system. “We are having a pleasant afternoon. We agreed on no more sweets because they make you too hyper.”

He didn’t listen. Instead, he decided to stomp and scream as he always does whenever he doesn’t get his own way. Especially when we’re surrounded by people who might judge my parenting skills—or lack thereof. And then, like clockwork, he did it. There was a faint, yet unmistakable, shhhht sound, followed by the specific, horrible squish that only a fully saturated, cotton adult diaper can produce.

Continue reading ““Michael, we’ve discussed this at length!”” →

pantyhose

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I have a serious thing for pantyhose. Not just an ‘Oh, these look nice with my skirt’ kind of thing. More like ‘If I could wallpaper my apartment with nude sheers, I absolutely would’ kind of thing. It’s an obsession, a fixation, a silky, glorious addiction. It started innocently enough. I had a preference for smooth legs under dresses. But then it escalated.

Now, the mere sight of a freshly opened packet of control tops sends a little shiver down my spine. The satisfying rustle as I pull them up, the way they hug every curve, the subtle sheen catching the light…it’s pure, unadulterated joy. I have an entire chest of drawers dedicated to my collection. Fishnets, opaques, sheers, shinies, matte, reinforced toe, open toe…you name it, I’ve got it, probably in three different colors.

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boobs

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Oh, Bryan. From the moment he walked into the room, my internal “boob-dar” (a finely tuned instrument I’ve developed over many years of living with these glorious twin peaks) started pinging like crazy. He had that particular glint in his eye, the one that said, “Yes, I see the whole woman standing before me, but also…have you seen those things?” I like to think of myself as having a reasonably charming personality, a witty repartee, and eyes that sparkle with mischief, but Bryan? His gaze, bless his heart, seemed to have been surgically realigned to a precise latitude just below my chin.

Our conversation was punctuated by an almost comical pattern. He’d start a sentence while his eyes valiantly attempted to meet mine, only for them to drift south with an almost gravitational pull before he’d catch himself. He’d blush slightly and restart with renewed (but fleeting) determination. I’m used to it, of course; being a woman of ample tittage means you develop a certain resilience, but with Bryan, it was less about objectification and more about an endearing, almost scientific fascination. He simply couldn’t help himself. Honestly, it was kind of adorable.

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xXx Francie xXx 844-332-2639 x 208

“You’re in so much trouble,” Daddy announced himself as he stepped into the room. I was lying on my tummy playing on my phone. “Do you even know how much trouble you’re in?” He asked with a raised brow. I shrugged a single shoulder.

“Not much.” I sassed. It was hard to keep a straight face when bratting off, but I managed. He towered over me as he got closer, his shadow coming over the screen of my phone, causing me to look up at him.

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masturbation

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My shift has been long. The music is loud, the men are loud. On this stage, I am a queen, even if the crown is just a spotlight and the throne is a brass pole. They watch me, hands gripping their drinks, their eyes hungry. I give them a show. But inside, I feel empty. A machine on repeat. I need something real.

My set ends. The applause is sloppy. I grab my towel and head quickly toward the back hall. “Five minutes, Stella,” the DJ calls out. Five minutes. That’s enough time. I push open the door to the small storage closet near the ice machine. It smells like bleach and desperation. I lock the bolt quietly. No one ever comes back here. This dark, hidden place is mine.

Continue reading “My shift has been long and I need a break” →

sissy test

Robotic Rita 1844-332-2639 Ext 413

Do you ever wish there was a test that would just tell you, for sure, a hundred percent if you were a sissy bitch or a man? Honey, I have one! And it’s so simple you can take it right now!

I know you’ll be anxious about the results, but this little quiz is so quick and easy you’ll know if you are a sissy by the time you finish reading this blog! Sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? Hehe, I want you to take a good look at my photo. Really, zoom in and have a look. What do you see? What turns you on? Think about how you would feel if you called me up and told me everything in that picture that made your dick twitch. Good, now keep reading for your results.

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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.

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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?”

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succubus

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

My Succubus costume was cheap red vinyl and was slutty enough that I felt the wind lift the hem with every step. I’d spent an hour applying black as night liquid eyeliner and slicking on the perfect shade of red lip gloss that tasted like artificial cherry and bad decisions. I wanted every eye on me. The kind of attention that made lesser girls blush, the kind that promised chaos.

I moved through the crush of masked students like I owned the ground, thriving on the whistles and the lingering stares. Every glance felt like a currency, and I was rolling in it. That’s when I saw him. He was standing alone, leaning against the wrought-iron fence of an old, unused cemetery that bordered the sidewalk—a classic mistake, I realized later.

Continue reading “The Succubus” →