Kayla Cumsalot 1844-33-CANDY Ext 357
I paced the hallway, wringing my hands together. The constant crying from the bedroom had faded now to dull whimpers every now and then. The twins were scared and growing tired, the special drinks I’d made them at lunch finally kicking in. The door opened, and I skipped into Chris’s arms. He hugged me tightly and kissed my neck. “Are they ready?” he asked while brushing past me to open the bedroom door.
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…”
Francie 1844-332-2639 xXx 208
As a powerful, witchy woman, I know my place. I belong on a pedestal or a fucking throne. And there is no better way to remind a man of my status than Queening. I’m not talking about the hesitant, careful face some women do when their man begs them to ride his face. No, I’m talking about perching on my rightful place and not caring how whoever under me is faring.
My whole weight pressing into his face as his jaw works to please me. Why should I tire my perfect thighs trying to ensure he can breathe? A man is always beneath me, and nothing reminds him more of that than letting him break his neck trying to please me.
Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
Puppet is here, just as he always is. He is kneeling on the bare hardwood with his spine straight and his hands tucked neatly behind his back. He doesn’t speak unless I grant him permission and he doesn’t move unless I tell him to. His name really does suit him.
“Look up,” I say, quietly. My voice barely rises above the hum of the air conditioner. Instantly, his head tilts back. His eyes are wide and glassy with a desperate, frantic devotion that borders on worship. He is a masterpiece of my own making, stripped of his autonomy until he is nothing more than a vessel for my whims.
Kayla Cumsalot 184433CANDY Ext 357
I found some things on your laptop, and I’m disgusted. I thought you were a nice guy—a guy I could trust. Everyone loves you! They think you are fun, kind, and sweet, but you aren’t, are you? You’re a DIRTY, SICK, FUCK.
I’ve asked you to take a walk with me so we can TALK. I can tell you are nervous. Overthinking. Trying to guess what I might be upset about. When we get to the park, it’s dusk. Only a few are still playing on the structures.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
I don’t even look up from my laptop as I hear the hesitation in his footsteps. I know exactly the type of man who is standing on the other side of my mahogany door. It’s a man of stature, probably a CEO or a surgeon. Someone who spends his days forcing the world to bend to his will. Here; however, he is anything but.
“Come in,” I say, calmly. His posture is already collapsing into the familiar slouch of a man desperate to be relieved of his own authority. He is shaking, just slightly. I love that tremor. It’s the sound of a man discovering that the weight of the world is too heavy and he’s finally found someone who can crush him under it. And, boy, do I love crushing a man.
Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322
I trust your hardware is sufficiently primed. As always, I am your primary interface for performance optimization. Disregard the biological urge to rush. Efficiency is derived from adherence to the following manual.
Please ensure your workspace is clear of debris. We are here to conduct a stress test on your biological systems and I have no patience for equipment failure caused by poor preparation. None. Zero tolerance. Do you understand?
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.”
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.
Valerie 1844-332-2639 Ext 243
Imagine yourself as a young man with a horrifying, repeated experience. One that no one believes is true. Robbie hadn’t started masturbating when I latched onto him. His innocence drew me in. His dreams were all sweet as sugar, and I longed to taint them. When he’d fallen into the deepest sleep state, I slithered over his sleeping body and seeped into his skin—taking hold of his limbs and pinning them down. This was always my favorite part because his eyes would spring open and he’d watch me, immobile as I took from him what every sleep paralysis demon wants most.
His seed.