Category: Mistress phonesex

Finger Your Boy Pussy

Goddess Rita 1844-332-2639

“Oh my God!” Michael yelled. “I can’t believe you have me fingering my pussy!” I laughed at the astonishment in his voice. It was our first call, and I don’t know what he expected to happen, but when he told me he read my profile and thought it sounded sexy. I knew exactly how this would end.

Michael was face down ass up in his wife’s panties and heels with his fingers stretching out that hungry hole for me. His panties were drenched with precum, and his lips smeared with her lipstick. For someone who wanted to be a sissy girl, I’d say he was well on his way now.

Continue reading “Finger Your Boy Pussy” →

Mary the MILF Milker

Mary 1844-332-2639 ext 350 

 Volunteering at the library on campus has become my favorite obsession. Milking the fact that I had become all the student’s favorite volunteer. They loved having someone with experience available to them, ready and willing to teach them anything they needed to learn. I was even popular among the girls as well. In fact, I have 2 regulars that cum visit me frequently. They were a little curious about being lesbians because they came from such strict families and needed some private guidance on how to please one another. I booked a private study room on the 5th floor of the library tucked away in the corner. The fifth floor was rarely accessed by students, as it primarily consisted of older books and archived materials. We mostly used the fifth floor for storage as well. We walked in, and I locked the door. The lighting was already dim, so I told the girls to undress, and they obliged. I instructed them on how to touch one another, sensually, intimately. They had been practicing with me for weeks and wanted to show me what they had learned.

Continue reading “Mary The MILF Milker” →

domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

The first thing I noticed was the scent of rosemary and cold steel that has seeped into the hallway. Ethan had already begun his morning, the way I taught him to. The brass tray on the footboard of my bed was laid out with meticulous precision. A single red rose, a glass of chilled water, a notebook bound in black leather, and a slender silver key I gave him last winter. He knows the key does not open any lock. It is the symbol of my permission to bear his devotion.

I slipped out of the silk sheets and stepped onto the cold wooden floor. My boots clicked, echoing off the painted walls like a metronome. He was waiting, kneeling at the base of the doorframe with his eyes lowered and his hands clasped behind his back. “Good morning, Mistress,” he murmured.

Continue reading “the way I taught him to” →

Sissy Slut Bob's Holiday Shopping Spree

Goddess Rita 1844-332-2639 Ext 413

My Boyfriend, Bob, isn’t good at anything but taking cock. Once I started slutting him out, our relationship really turned around. Since it’s the holiday season, and giving back is essential to me, I told my little Sissy slut Faggot that we were going to the Mall for a bit of charity work. Bob complained at first, ya know, because he is so lazy and selfish. However, when I told him that I wanted him to dress like the Talent Show scene in Mean Girls and pleasure all of the Husbands who’d been dragged to the Mall for last-minute Christmas shopping, his tune sure changed.

I dressed up my sissy slut faggot in white fishnets, tall white thigh-high heeled boots, and a red velvet skirt with fuzzy white trim. The tiny crop top that matched the skirt showed off Bob’s sexy abs and did nothing to hide his excitement. “Should you cage my sissy clit?” He asked me as he painted his lips Candycane red.

Continue reading “Sissy Slut Bob’s Holiday Shopping Spree” →

Santa domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

One day, I got a special client. It was Santa Claus. I couldn’t believe it. Santa, the man who gives presents to everyone, wanted to be dominated by me. I was excited and a little nervous because I had never dominated someone so famous before. I prepared my room, putting out all my toys and tools. When Santa arrived, I could see the excitement in his eyes. He was a big man with a round belly and a white beard. He looked like he hadn’t been dominated in a long time.

“Hello, Santa,” I said, trying to sound strong. “I am Stella, your dominatrix for today. You will call me Mistress Stella.” “Hello, Mistress Stella,” Santa said. His voice was jolly, but shaking a little. “I am ready to obey your orders.” “First, take off your clothes,” I said. Santa quickly removed his red suit.

Continue reading “Santa’s Domme” →

Long Leg Fetish

Francie 1844-332-2639 xXx 208

When I was growing up, my aunt used to tell me how lucky I was to be a ‘leggy blonde.’ It didn’t make sense to me until I was much older, when I realized all the benefits of being precisely what she said. “Leggy.” These long, smooth stems lure boys like the flame calls to the moth.

They flutter forward, hoping for warmth and protection, and then find themselves aflame. While the lust for my legs burns just as hot as the moth’s flickering flame, it’s only half as dangerous. My victims often escape with their lives and a recurring lust for my long legs.

Continue reading “Long Leg Fetish” →

domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

People ask me, constantly, why I do this. It is about understanding the fundamental truth of the human psyche: how much they desire the total absence of responsibility. For me, being a Domme—la Déesse, if you prefer the proper terminology—is the only way I can truly breathe. Everything else is noise. But when someone kneels before me, the world outside vanishes. There is only the weighted silence of utter obligation.

I love the control, of course. Who wouldn’t love the knowledge that a single, slow lift of my eyebrow can shatter a man’s composure? But that’s just the starting point. The real allure is what comes after the initial submission: the raw trust. They put themselves and their entire emotional landscape into my hands. They need me to be sharper, wiser, and crueler than they are capable of being themselves.

Continue reading “the fundamental truth of the human psyche” →

domme

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

He was kneeling before me with his head bowed. Fear is a sound I understand intimately. It’s a language universally welcomed and accepted here. My gaze drifted down the line of my black pencil skirt, lingering on the whip on table beside me. “Look at me,” I commanded.

The sound of my voice broke the tension like a glass shattering. He flinched, then lifted his chin slowly and reluctantly. His eyes were a deep, unsettling blue, swimming with an emotion I recognized instantly. It was the terrifying beauty of surrender. He wasn’t looking at a person; he was looking at the weight of his own submission.

Continue reading “Fear is a sound I understand intimately” →

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” →

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” →