Category: femme domme phonesex

Discipline

Posted 19 hours ago by Cory

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Mark was late for our scheduled evening review by exactly four minutes. In my world, tardiness was an unacceptable lapse in discipline. “You understand why punctuality matters to me, don’t you, Mark?” I asked. My voice was purposely devoid of warmth, serving as a reminder that my patience was not an infinite resource. His eyes darted away for a split second before I tightened my grip on his chin. Just enough to demand his absolute, undivided attention.

I’d built my reputation on precision and absolute obedience, and I certainly wasn’t going to tolerate sloppy habits from anyone, especially not from Mark. “Good,” I said, while letting go of his face and stepping back slightly. “Kneel.” It wasn’t a request, nor was it phrased as a question. He dropped and his knees hitting the floor with a dull thud that echoed softly in the quiet room. I looked down at him and slowly adjusted my cuffs as I let the silence stretch out, forcing him to marinate in the consequences of his careless mistake.

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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.” →

Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453

The Sissy Whore House On Wheels was such a success that we decided to give the sissy husbands a party. We decorated the yard in pink streamers, balloons, confetti, and sparkles. It looked fit for a princess. I displayed our new statue of our fairy mascot as the centerpiece surrounded by dainty little finger foods. We made a toast and congratulated them for being the most well known sissy whores. They had even made the local news. And word was spreading fast. The sissies were having a great time watching videos popping up all over social media. Videos of all of the cocks they sucked and fucked as we traveled from campsite to campsite and whored them out. Meanwhile the sissy wives were gleaming as they counted the thousands of dollars their sissy husbands had brought in. 

We all gathered for a game of Pin The Panties On The Sissy. Then we blind folded them one at a time and counted how many pairs of panties they could pin on the sissies in thirty seconds each. The wives and I were laughing our asses off and taking pictures and videos as they ran around. That’s when we saw the paparazzi.

Continue reading “Dr. Julie’s Sissy Wives Club Part 3” →

A Tasty Treat

Posted 2 weeks ago by Valerie

A Tasty Treat

Valerie 1844-332-2639 Ext 243

It was a slow day at the bakery, so I had time to test out a few new recipes. I slipped into the back, humming a little song as I laid out the flour and other delicious things I’d be playing with. When I pulled open the giant walk-in refrigerator doors, I saw my newest ingredient dangling from a hook.

Tricia was naked, her flesh chilled to the perfect temperature and puckered all over with goosebumps. Her arms were stretched above her head, and a tiny pink ribbon was tied tightly into a bow at the base of her cock. I smiled and reached out to pet the purple member. “It’s almost ready to fall off.” She whimpered and swayed her hips forward. “Let’s prepare my tasty treat, then, shall we?”

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Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453

Welcome to the Sissy Wives Club where you will learn how to sissify your husband for fun and profit! You are all here today because you found your sissy husbands snooping around in your lingerie drawers, or maybe even your daughter’s sock and panty drawers. I’m here to tell you that the only thing you can do is embrace it. That urge is permanent so make the most of it ladies. You will soon realize how lucky you truly are. I have everything you need to turn your life around. Before you know it, your sissy husband will be doing all of the laundry and hanging the delicates out on the clothesline to dry. You will not believe how meticulously they will take care of all of the clothing and house work. I even have these French maid uniforms if you’d like to purchase them for your sissy husband. Don’t worry, I have everything you could possibly need to transform your life. You will need a whole new sissy wardrobe for them. And they need their own sissy boudoir. They will be so happy that they will be willing to do absolutely anything for you. Even slutting themselves out.

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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.

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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.”” →

Bad boy

Posted 2 months ago by Sawyer

Sawyer 1844-332-2639 Ext 455

Being daddy’s little slut has always been my favorite, but I found our recently I love role reversal too. I was talking to a little sissy boy on the phone and taking control just put some kind of power over me. I felt so invincible. I loved telling him what and when to do it. My little

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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” →