Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
They come to my apartment, crawling with their money and their sad, empty eyes. They want to be nothing. And I am good at making them nothing. When my heels click on the polished floor, it is a quick, clean sound. Like a tiny whip. I wear black, always. Black is serious. Black is power. My red lipstick is the only color. It is like a stain, a mark, on a clean sheet.
Today, it is a man named Mark. He sits on my velvet couch. This man is too big for it, so his shoulders are hunched. He looks like a little lost, but he is old. Pathetic. He avoids my gaze. Good. He knows his place. “You are early,” I say. My voice is not loud, but it is like ice. “Did I say you could be early? No.”
crawling with their money
He flinches. “I…I’m sorry, Miss. Stella. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t late.” “Hmmm,” I think to myself. I walk around him, slowly. My perfume, a heavy jasmine, fills the air. It is too much for him. He shifts, uncomfortable. “Late? You think you could ever be late for me? That would be a bigger mistake than breathing, mon petit.”
I lean close, my voice a whisper now. “You are lucky I even let you in this building. Do you know how many men beg for my time? You are nothing special.” He swallows. His hands are clasped tight in his lap. They are shaking a little. I see it…I always see it.
“Look at me,” I command. His eyes, full of fear and a strange kind of need, lift to mine. They are dull, like old stones. I feel no pity. Only a small, cold satisfaction. “Good,” I say. My lip curls just a tiny bit. “Now, tell me. Why are you here again, Mark? What poor, sad excuse do you have today for wasting my precious time?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. He has no words. Of course not. They never do. I am the absolute French bitch they pretend to hate, but truly adore. And I love to make them pay for it. Every single pathetic one.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
https://phonesexcandy.com/stella/