Author: Stella

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

M was dressed in a frilly pink dress, complete with lace trim and a bow at the back. His long hair was tied up in a ponytail, revealing his ears had been pierced with tiny hoops. I approached him slowly, taking in every detail of his appearance. “M,” I purred, “you look absolutely stunning. I must say, you’re quite the pretty little sissy girl.”

“Thank you, Mistress Stella,” he whispered, as he looked up at me. His eyes filled with hope and anticipation. “I’ve always dreamed of being a sissy girl.” I circled him, as I examined his appearance from every angle. “You know why you’re here, don’t you?” I asked, playfully.

Continue reading “M’s Feminization” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

He was shifting on the examination table, trying to find comfort in a position that was designed to offer none. My latex dress caught the low light in the dungeon, so that each movement I made sent ripples across its shiny black surface. I loved how it felt. How it controlled me, as I prepared to control him.

The vibrating plug I’d locked inside his pussy sat silent for now, but I could see the tension in his thighs, as his hips kept trying to find friction that wasn’t there. He was already desperate and I hadn’t even touched him yet! “You’re wondering what I’m going to do,” I stated, like an observation. “You’re hoping I’ll let you cum. Aren’t you?”

Continue reading ““You’re hoping I’ll let you cum. Aren’t you?”” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Marcus sat across from me, wearing his tailored suit like armor. He looked like the quintessential corporate success story, but I didn’t see the titan of industry he pretended to be. I saw a man in his own cage. “I’m failing, Stella,” he said. His voice was laced with self-loathing. “I’m weak. I don’t have the spine to be the man I’m supposed to be.”

It was the same script he brought me every Tuesday. A litany of perceived inadequacies. I’m too soft. I’m a coward. I can’t handle the pressure. He viewed these traits as fatal flaws in his masculinity…but I didn’t.

Continue reading “the quintessential corporate success story” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My sub usually understood the boundaries of our dynamic, but halfway through our session he had stupidly forgotten his place. It’s as if his teeny, tiny man brain needed a thorough, ruthless scrubbing to remind him of his place when he’s in my presence. I didn’t see the point in continuing with our usual type of degradation if he was just going to be a brat, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.

“Knees,” I commanded, in that cold, flat tone he hated. He dropped to his knees instantly and looked up at me with those eager, pathetic eyes. “Mistress, I…”

Continue reading “Lesson fucking learned.” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Jorge thought he was punishing me by being distant all week. A little silent treatment, like a petty withholding of affection to make me squirm. How unimaginative. He thinks he’s the architect of our little dynamic, but he forgets a fundamental truth about playing with a domme. I’m the one who designed the rules. And I don’t need his permission to change them.

“You’ve been quiet, Stella,” he said, taking a slow sip of his drink. He was clearly waiting for me to validate his petty little power trip, but little did he know that the bait was dangling right where I wanted it. “Have I?” I asked coyly, as I smiled and traced the rim of my own empty glass. “You know you have,” he replied, sarcastically. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Continue reading “He thought he was punishing me” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Mark sat with his hands folded in his lap and his eyes fixed on the floor. Kayla sat to my left. She held Mark’s gold card between two of her perfectly manicured fingers, while admiring it like a trophy. “Stella, darling, shall we see how much he’s willing to sacrifice for our entertainment?” she asked, with a wink.

“Let’s!” I said, while watching the subtle tremor in his shoulders. “You know the rules, Mark. Four digits. If we guess correctly, the balance is ours. If we miss…well, the penalty for wasting our time is exactly the same.”

Continue reading “The PIN to Mark’s Gold Card” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Ronald is successful and entirely too confident for his own good. He sits alone at the mahogany bar, swirling a strong drink, vibrating with the kind of arrogance that begs to be shattered. What he doesn’t seem to realize (yet, anyway) is that I know exactly what men crave. They crave the illusion of control, right up until the moment I strip it away.

As I slide onto the stool beside him, his gaze instantly drops to my legs. I see the spark in his eyes and know that he’s looking at my shiny black pantyhose. As I shift my weight and cross my legs, the faint hiss of fabric rubbing against fabric is audible only to us. The sound mimics the tightening of a knot.

Continue reading “Controlling Him With Pantyhose” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My collection of toys is a gallery of exquisite agony and, to be entirely honest with you, I love it. Each object holds its own place in my heart; however, there are two in particular that I love the most. There’s a heavy, weighted flogger constructed from braided leather that feels like a conversation with gravity every time I use it. I’ve also recently acquired a set of glass blown dilators that shimmer like trapped lightning under the dim glow of my crystal chandelier.

When I’m here in my dungeon, I’m not Stella the accountant, or Stella the daughter, or Stella the woman who worries about the passage of time. I’m only known as Mistress Stella, the creator of sensations. I love the way the room seems to inhale when I’m ready to play. There’s a specific kind of power in being the stillness at the heart of the storm, and I relish every moment of it. I pick up a single, slender crop, testing the weight of it against my palm. The leather is supple, worn smooth by years of practiced intent.

Continue reading “My collection of toys” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

He’s trembling on the cold linoleum floor, with his head bowed and rope coiled around his wrists. His eyes keep darting to the edge of the room where a single candle sputters. He was supposed to be silent, yet he laughed. I warned him, earlier. “Speak when I say.” He chose not to listen.

The candlelight dances across his features, painting them in shades of guilt and anticipation. “Come,” I command. He stands, but his gaze does not meet my eyes. I circle him, as the leather strap in my hand swallows the light. “Listen,” I say, as my fingertips brush the strap’s surface. His head snaps up, and his eyes are wide and pleading. I lay the strap across his chest. “Your mistake was not in the sound you made, but in the thought that you could speak without consequence.”

Continue reading ““Speak when I say.”” →

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

I stepped out of the alleyway, with my heels clicking against the concrete. It sounded almost like a siren song for the broken. I wasn’t looking for conversation, I was looking for the magnetic pull of a submissive spirit. You can smell them, really. There’s a specific scent to a man who is tired of his own self-governance. It’s a faint, metallic tang of repressed desperation.

I spotted what appeared to be a perfect specimen near the corner of 4th Street. He standing under the flickering orange glow of a streetlight. Tall, well-dressed in a suit that looked slightly too heavy for his frame, and was clutching a briefcase like a shield. He was trembling, though there was no breeze to speak of. As I approached, I didn’t bother with the softness of a smile. I let my presence be the only thing that mattered.

Continue reading “a siren song for the broken” →