Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
The message from Puppet always started the same way: a desperate plea. He called it a “hang out,” but I knew what he really meant. “She’s in the other room,” he whispered, his voice thin and shaky as he called. “Just…just come. Please, Stella. I need you to see me.”
See him. He always wanted me to see him. It was a game, a twisted reflection of his own pathetic cravings. I felt nothing but a cold amusement. He was a puppet, all right, and I held the strings. The back door creaked as he let me in, his eyes darting to the hallway, then back to me, wide with a mixture of fear and desperate excitement.
Pathetic Puppet
I slipped into the small, shadowed corner of the living room, a place he’d picked out before. From here, I was a ghost, hidden by the dim light and the heavy drapes. His wife’s voice drifted in from the kitchen – the clatter of dishes, a humming tune. She had no idea.
He moved to the center of the room, his hands trembling slightly. He couldn’t look me directly in the eye, not really. His gaze kept dropping, then flicking up, a nervous tic. He was a mess of raw nerves and forbidden desire. “Stella,” he breathed, a barely audible sound. His face was flushed, slick with sweat that gleamed under the soft lamp.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. My silence was its own command, my unblinking gaze a pressure on him. He knew my expectations, the price of his particular brand of release, the humiliation he craved wrapped in shame. I stared at him as he started to move, slow and deliberate, his hands twitching, restless, as he stroked himself closer to the edge.
I watched as the tension built in him, thick and ugly. He was on the very edge, teetering, a man pushed to his breaking point by his own desires and my silent demands. Then it happened. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. The dam burst and I saw his cock twitch as it erupted like a volcano. He stumbled, collapsing to his knees, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shook, uncontrollably. The tears came, hot and raw, mingling with his sweat. He wasn’t just crying; he was sobbing, a pathetic, broken mess on the floor.
I stayed silent, allowing the sounds of his breakdown to fill the space. The wife’s humming stopped for a moment, then resumed. Just a wall away. He was a little bitch of a man, indeed, and I felt a faint, cold satisfaction watching him crumble.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
https://phonesexcandy.com/stella/