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.
“I want to serve”
“Look at me,” I say. He does. “Now look down.” He hesitates. I snap my fingers. He drops his gaze to his own crotch. “Measure it,” I command in English. He pulls out his sad little prick. It’s pink, soft, and barely an inch. I laugh. Loud. Cruel.
“Is this all you have to work with?” I switch to French, savoring the words. “Un cure-dent? Un bouton de chemise?” He blushes. I grab my foot-length stiletto and tap his chest with the tip. “You call this power?” I sneer. “You come to me, begging for control, but you can’t even stand with confidence. Pathetic.”
I make him hold it. Stretch it. Whisper false praise to it. I record it all with my phone. His shaking hands, his mumbled “I’m sorry, mistress.”
Then I post it…blurred, of course. No faces. Just shame. My private group of elite submissives watch and laugh. We call it “Le Petit Roi,” which means “The Little King.” He doesn’t know yet. But he will.
I feed on his weakness. Not because I hate men, but because they lie to themselves. I make them kiss my boots. Crawl. Bark. I paint their nails pink and make them recite poems to my high heels. And when they finally break—when the tears come—I whisper, “See? Now you’re being honest.”
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
https://phonesexcandy.com/stella/