Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
Brian knew. He’d forgotten himself, let a task slip in a moment of defiance, and now…now he would have no choice but to remember his place. My place. A slow, predacious smile touched my lips, unseen by him, but surely felt in the sudden tension that stiffened his spine.
“Brian,” I purred. “Did you truly believe, even for a moment, that I would tolerate such…well…nonsense?” He remained silent. Good. Fear, respect, anticipation – all blended into a potent melange. My gaze swept over him, from the dark hair falling into his eyes to the vulnerable curve of his neck. This was where he belonged: at my mercy, awaiting my command.
Brian Must Be Punished
My hand drifted to the mahogany paddle, hanging so conveniently by the mantle. The wood felt smooth, cool against my fingertips. Brian’s breath hitched. Anticipation. It was a potent aphrodisiac, for both of us. “Turn, bitch,” I murmured, my voice a silken thread, yet it commanded his every nerve. He obeyed instantly, presenting his bare backside so readily, a canvas I was about to paint red.
I took a slow, deliberate step closer, as my shadow fell over him. The scent of his clean skin with a hint of nervous sweat filled my senses. He was taut. Every muscle was strained. He was waiting. The first strike was a test, you see. It was a light caress of impact that left a faint, stinging blush. He gasped softly, then stifled himself. My smile widened, wickedly. Oh, he was ready. I watched his muscles tense as his hands clench into fists at his sides.
The second strike was firmer, a loud crack that echoed in the quiet room. He bit his lip and whimpered. Every breath, every sound, every inch of him was mine to command, to shape, to break, and to rebuild. I let the paddle swing, a slow, hypnotic arc, before bringing it down again. Each hit was carefully measured, designed to peel back his control, layer by agonizing layer. He started to sway. His legs were threatening to give out, but he held firm. That stubborn core, that resistance I so enjoyed breaking down.
“Tell me, Brian,” I whispered, leaning in close enough for him to feel my breath against his ear, “who owns you?” His shoulders shook. “You do, Stella,” he said with confidence. I delivered another loud crack. “Not just Stella. Your Domme. Your Master. Say it.”
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
https://phonesexcandy.com/stella/