Category: mean phonesex

domme

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.”

Continue reading “crawling with their money” →

spanking blog

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.

Continue reading “Brian Must Be Punished” →

Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453

The Halloween party started to turn really wicked when I headed to the storage room. The staff was pretty overwhelmed. So I was just trying to help out. The bar needed to be replenished. So I headed downstairs and down the long, dark hallway. That’s when I realized that I was being followed by the Grim Reaper. I had seen him around the party, but I had no idea who he was. I should’ve just asked him if I could help him. But he was really freaking me out. The faster I walked, the faster he walked. My heart was racing. Suddenly I realized that I didn’t have my phone. And the music was so loud upstairs that no one would be able to hear me scream. I hadn’t even told anyone that I was going down to the storage room. It felt like I couldn’t get to the door fast enough. But when I finally did, I got in and locked the door behind me as quickly as possible. I had never been that scared in my life. It felt like I was in there forever just waiting for him to leave. And I hadn’t heard a peep.

Continue reading “The Wicked Halloween Party Part 2” →

findom

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Attention is currency, and mine is priced high for a reason. Don’t confuse this with being a kind soul, mon chéri. I don’t waste time on ghosts who confuse feelings with transactions. My only rule is etched in the ice of a Montreal winter: I only talk to losers who send me money.

And they are, universally, losers. Not in the theatrical sense, but in the sad, damp reality of their lives. They are the men who linger on the edges of crowds, who treat their pathetic lives like a tragedy requiring an audience. They try to send poems, long screeds about their mothers, or worse, unsolicited pictures of their sad little faces or their sad little neglected cocks.

Continue reading “Don’t Confuse This – Findom Phonesex” →

Julie 1-844-332-2639 Ext 453

I was up bright and early, decorating for the Halloween party when I heard a very light knock on the door. Who could it be this early, I wondered. I peeked out and saw that it was the tailor’s son. He was delivering my Halloween costume. I was so excited when I opened the door that I must have scared the poor boy. He’s very shy and soft spoken. I felt bad and apologized. He declined a tip and scurried away. I just couldn’t wait to try my costume on, and it fit perfectly.

It was definitely the biggest turn out we’ve ever had. We had been inviting so many people that we didn’t even know who most of them were under their masks. But everyone was having a great time. So great that we were running low on spirits. I could tell that the bartender was looking for the barback to replenish the bar. But the barback was overwhelmed. So I decided to run and grab some myself. I headed downstairs and down the dark hall to the storage room. As I approached the door, I felt as if someone was following me. I turned around and saw him.

Continue reading “The Wicked Halloween Party” →

domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

He was already there, kneeling in the center of the dark space. His back was too straight, his assigned sissy maid uniform too soft, too pink. This submissive, this sissy bitch, was waiting for me. I liked that I could feel his fear, even from across the floor. It was a good scent.

My heels clicked sharp and slow on the cement tiles. I walked a full circle around him, never touching, just watching the subtle way his whole body tensed and trembled. He kept his eyes locked on the floor, afraid to look at his mistress. Bon. Good manners are everything.

Continue reading “Sissy Bitch Maid” →

abdl mommy

Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407

Right now, my patience is wearing thin, stretched to its absolute limit by Timmy’s repeated defiance. Though, he pretends not to notice the storm gathering in my eyes. He knows what he did, and I know he knows, which only makes this impending conversation all the more serious. My heart aches for the difficult lesson that is about to unfold. His naughtiness this morning wasn’t a small oversight or an accidental spill; it was a deliberate act of rebellion. And it was a direct challenge to my authority and the rules we’ve so carefully established for his own well-being!

Despite my clear instructions to always tell Mommy when his diaper was getting full, especially after waking up and having his morning bottle, he decided to ignore me entirely. Instead of asking for a change, he chose to play in his messy diaper, leaving a trail of tell-tale smears on his favorite blanket. And, even worse, on the clean, plush carpet by his oversized crib.

Continue reading “Testing Mommy’s Patience” →

cuckold

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

I have a type. Specifically, I have two types. There’s Type A: The distinguished gentleman, preferably with a full head of silver hair, a penchant for single malt scotch, and a portfolio that could rival a small nation’s GDP. These men are wonderful conversationalists, masters of the five-star reservation, and possess a certain gravitas that only comes with decades of accrued wisdom (and even more accrued wealth). They also, almost without exception, have the libido of a particularly sluggish snail.

Then there’s Type B: The strapping twenty-something, all rippling abs, boundless energy, and an unshakeable belief that life is one long montage from a sports drink commercial. These men are less interested in discussing the nuances of global economics and more interested in, well, nuances. And by nuances, I mean anything that involves their cock.

Continue reading “Richard, The Silver Haired Cuck” →

voyeur ********* play story

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

“Jackson, you’ve been a very bad boy…” I purred into the microphone, my voice a low, seductive whisper. Jackson’s eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of my voice. He knew I was watching, but he didn’t know how. I could see the panic in his eyes. The fear of being caught! What a fantastic way to keep him in line, I thought to myself. No one likes a confident sub!

“On your knees, Jackson,” I commanded. He hesitated for a moment before looking towards the door where his wife was busy in the kitchen. “Now,” I added, my tone leaving no room for argument. He dropped to his knees, as his heart pounded in his chest. I could see it, the way his shirt moved with each beat, the way his breath hitched in his throat. I watched as he reached for his belt, his hands shaking as he undid the buckle.

Continue reading ““You’ve Been a Very Bad Boy, Jackson”” →

sph

Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

My phone buzzed, displaying a name I’d purged from my active memory: Max. We used to date, for a brief, almost embarrassing, period. That was, until I discovered just how minuscule his dick actually is. We’re talking the size of a chapstick tube, maybe even a used one at that. Our relationship, if you could even call it that, ended abruptly after I realized my needs were just going to gather dust, indefinitely.

His voice on the other end was a pathetic, wavering mess. He started apologizing, rambling about how he’d messed up, how he missed me, how he’d changed. He even dared to beg me to take him back. My mind, however, was already back in my apartment, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I’d actually have to fake it again. The answer was a definitive, resounding no. I can’t date a guy who is utterly incapable of satisfying me! And what did he mean by “changed”? Did he have a donor cock surgically attached to his tiny little weiner?

Continue reading “I Wish Max Had a Bigger Dick” →