Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
Midnight is coming. So is he. Red light spills from the glass shelf. Candles, not for romance, but for control. For power. My mirror shows a woman in black. Tight dress, sharp collar, eyes lined with kohl. My hair is dark as the silence between commands.
His name is Daniel. He’s been mine for nearly a year. Polite. Obedient. Shakes when I raise my voice. I like that. Tonight isn’t about punishment. It’s about passage. A new year. A fresh leash.
New Year, Same Power
I check the toys. The paddle with his name engraved into the wood, the cuffs he once tried to pull away from (he apologized deeply), the blindfold that still carries his quiet sobs. Everything clean. Everything ready.
My phone buzzes. “Arriving in 10.” I smile. Not warmth. Hunger. I sit. Cross my legs. Think about last December and how he trembled when I made him count lashes to 60. One for each minute, he said, grinning through tears. “To welcome the year, Mistress.” I let him finish. Rewarded him with my hand in his hair. The closest thing to kindness I offer.
Outside, fireworks burst in the distance. Early celebrators. Idiots. The real ritual hasn’t started. Daniel arrives at my doorstep. “Kneel when you enter. Eyes down. Coat off. Shoes off. Say your number.” He picked it. 49. The age his father was when he left. I never asked why. I just use it.
A knock. Three soft hits. Like a secret. “Enter,” I say. No warmth in my voice. Just law. The door opens. There he is. Tall, nervous, in a coat too nice for what’s coming. He drops to his knees before the threshold. Shoes already off. Good boy.
“Happy New Year, 49,” I say, standing slowly. Boots clicking. “But time hasn’t changed yet. You haven’t earned a celebration.” He nods. Doesn’t look up. “Take off the coat. Slowly. Show me your fear.”
He does. Underneath, he wears a white shirt, unbuttoned at the top. I ordered that. He’s breathing fast. I like that, too. I walk to him. Lift his chin with one finger. His eyes meet mine. “This year,” I whisper, “you will break sooner. And rebuild harder. Do you accept?”
“Yes, Stella,” he breathes. I slap him. Light. Enough to sting. A prelude. “It’s Mistress,” I say. “Yes…Mistress.” Better. Outside, the clock ticks toward midnight. The city screams with joy. But here, in the red dark, time belongs to me. I smile. “Good. Now crawl.”
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
https://phonesexcandy.com/stella/