CBT With Puppet

cbt

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. Puppet, a man I barely knew, was insisting I watch him as he pleasured himself. The audacity! I had only met him a few days prior at a mutual friend’s dinner party. But there he was, undressing in front of me, his lustful eyes pleading for me to stay.

“What’s gotten into you, Puppet?” I asked, trying to sound firm despite the nervous flutter in my chest. “We just met. This isn’t appropriate.” But he was relentless. “Just this once, Stella. I promise I won’t ask again,” he whispered, his hands already working to free his erection. “Please, I need to cum. My wife will be home any minute and…and I can’t help myself.”

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extra-terrestrial blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

They say the oldest profession adapts to anything. Mon Dieu, they were not wrong. Here I am, French as a baguette, running my little ’boutique sensuelle’ on Rue St. Dennis in beautiful Montreal (sweet bebe, you thought I was Parisienne French, didn’t you?). The clients? Well, that’s where it gets…interesting. You see, most of them aren’t human. They’re not even from planet earth.

Take tonight. My appointment, a Xylorian (pronounced “Sy-lor-ee-anne”) named Gleep, looked like a particularly disgruntled pile of amethyst-colored jello. Four eye-stalks, all twitching. He’s from a species that primarily communicates via bioluminescent mucus, which, let me tell you, makes for some truly messy pillow talk. And the smell! Like fermented algae and existential dread, even with the station’s advanced atmospheric scrubbers. But, c’est la vie, Gleep pays in rare crystals, which are currently trending on the galactic market. He also (naturally) leave quite the trail of slime after he cums.

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whore

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Ah, the whispers. They follow me, rustling through the market stalls, fluttering down cobbled streets. “La Française,” they hiss, as if my origin were a mark of evil itself. “That tramp. She’s a lady of the night, you know.” And then the little tittering laughs, like dry leaves moving across the pavement.

Me? I just tuck a rogue curl behind my ear, adjust the scarf I found near the canal – a surprisingly chic silk, mind you – and flash them a smile. A wide, toothy grin that usually makes them flinch. Because, mon chéri, they’re right. Every last word of it. They call me Stella. Or sometimes, if they’re feeling particularly brave and convinced of their own moral superiority, “that hussy.” I don’t mind. A name is a name, and a hussy, well, a hussy knows how to live.

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anal

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I had been hired to take over the management of a failing company, and the first person on the chopping block was Chris. He had only been there for a few weeks, but wow, he was bad at his job! I called him into my office, and he stood there nervously as I told him he was on thin ice. But then, I had a change of heart. Perhaps I could fix him.

“Chris,” I began, “I’m going to give you one chance to keep your job.” He looked at me with wide eyes, hopeful that I wasn’t going to fire him. “I want to stay here,” he said, “I like my job and all. What do you need me to do to make things right?” I leaned back in my chair with a smirk playing on my lips. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he promised. Famous last words, I thought to myself.

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slut

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I’ve always had a reputation for being a bit of a free spirit. I was born in Quebec, and maybe that’s where my love for adventure comes from. We all know the Quebecois are fond of adventures! I’ve never been afraid to explore my desires, and that’s exactly what brought me to this small, romantic town on the coast of Italy last week. I’d been wandering the winding streets, taking in the sights and sounds, when I stumbled upon a quaint little cafe. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wafted through the air, and I couldn’t resist stepping inside.

As I entered, I noticed a handsome man sitting alone at a table near the window. His eyes met mine, and I felt a spark ignite within me. He smiled, and I found myself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. I approached him, my hips swaying seductively as I walked. “Mind if I join you?” I asked, my French accent on full display. He grinned and his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Please, do,” he said, gesturing to the empty chair across from him.

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sex blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

 Long ago, I was never the type to indulge in one-night stands but, when I met Lestat at that dimly lit bar, everything changed. He had a magnetic pull that was hard to resist, and I found myself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. We talked for hours, sharing our stories and dreams, as the night grew darker. The air was thick with desire, and I could feel the heat between us growing with every passing moment. It was only a matter of time before we decided to take our adventure to the next level.

Lestat’s apartment was a short walk away, and as we stumbled through the door, our clothes seemed to melt away with every step. Our bodies were pressed together, our lips locked in a passionate embrace. The intensity of our connection was electrifying, and I knew that this night was going to be unforgettable. As we lay on his bed, entwined in each other’s arms, I felt a sudden urge to take control. I wanted to give Lestat the most pleasure he’d ever experienced, and I knew exactly how to do it.

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anal

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Bonjour, foufouns! It’s me, your favorite French connoisseur of the…let’s call them “hidden depths” of the male physique. You see, while many women swoon over bulging biceps or a charming smile, I find myself drawn to a different kind of mystery, a more intime adventure, if you will. There’s something undeniably compelling about the journey to the very core of a man’s being – the fascinating, often overlooked, and generally underexplored territory of his derrière’s most private entrance. Yes, I am talking about the butt!

Now, some might raise an eyebrow, perhaps even two, when I express this particular passion. “Stella,” they utter with a mix of fascination and mild horror, “why the derrière?” And to them, I simply smile and shrug my shoulders, a very French gesture that encompasses a melange of unsaid truths. For me, it’s a hidden garden waiting to be tenderly explored. It’s far more engaging than discussing the weather, n’est-ce pas?

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masturbation blog

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My usual detached composure faltered the moment he introduced himself. “Good evening, I’m Liam, and I’ll be your server tonight.” “Stella,” I managed, my voice a little huskier than I intended. “Nice to meet you, Liam.” He was tall, with a lean build that stretched the fabric of his black uniform a little too perfectly across his chest and shoulders.

There was a spark, a subtle flirtation in his gaze that mirrored my own. I found myself lingering over my order, asking unnecessary questions about the drink list, just to keep him at the table for a few moments longer. I’d catch his eye from across the room, and he’d offer a quick, knowing smile before attending to another table. It was maddening and exhilarating all at once.

He talked about the specials with a passion that made me want to order everything, even the things I didn’t usually like. His hands, as he poured my drink, were long and elegant, with just a hint of muscle. My imagination ran wild, painting scenarios that had no business existing in a crowded public restaurant. He was just doing his job, I reminded myself, but my body wasn’t listening. My pussy was throbbing. A delicious, unbearable ache that could only be soothed by one thing…Liam’s cock.

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domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Bonjour! Je suis Stella, your newest Candy Girl! I want to tell you about a call I did with my latest victim, a man named Ethan. He was on the other end of the line, moaning loudly as he listened to my commands. “Ethan,” I purred, my voice dripping with a mix of authority and desire. “Are you ready to be punished?” He stuttered, his voice was shaking with anticipation. “Y-yes, Stella.”

“Good boy,” I cooed, my fingers tracing the curve of my full lips. “Now, I want you to take off all your clothes. I want you to feel the cool air against your skin. Can you do that for me?” He hesitated, but I could hear the rustling of fabric over the phone as he took off his shirt and underpants. “I…I’m naked, Stella.” He said, nervously. “Mmm, good,” I hummed, my hand drifting down to the hem of my silk robe. “Now, I want you to touch yourself. Imagine it’s my hand on your dick, stroking you slowly.”

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