Category: phone sex Mistress

Sissy Sex With Mommy

Mama Felicity 1844-332-2639 Ext 270

“Oh! Oh, Mommy,” Collin cooed. His big hands skimmed up the back of my thighs, then cradled my ass cheeks. He pulled me down on the silicone strap-on screwed into his sissy cage. “Am I doing good, Mommy? Am I fucking you like a real man?” I hovered over him and teased my lips over his. The tacky lipstick I’d layer over his mouth smeared between us, and I bounced a bit harder.

Filling myself with the most perfect dildo. A gasp of pleasure slipped from my lips to wash over his mouth, and from under me, he bucked his hips up. Through hooded eyes, I could see my sissy was wide-eyed with an eagerness I’d never seen before. “I am doing good!” He gushed under me, pulling me down as he bucked up. “I’m going to make Mommy cum!”

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Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

Jorge thought he was punishing me by being distant all week. A little silent treatment, like a petty withholding of affection to make me squirm. How unimaginative. He thinks he’s the architect of our little dynamic, but he forgets a fundamental truth about playing with a domme. I’m the one who designed the rules. And I don’t need his permission to change them.

“You’ve been quiet, Stella,” he said, taking a slow sip of his drink. He was clearly waiting for me to validate his petty little power trip, but little did he know that the bait was dangling right where I wanted it. “Have I?” I asked coyly, as I smiled and traced the rim of my own empty glass. “You know you have,” he replied, sarcastically. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

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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.”

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Sawyer 1844-332-2639 Ext 455

There’s something incredibly exciting about having a daddy tell me what and when to do something. All I want to do is please him even when it’s not something I want to do. He could force me to do anything and I would still have a smile on my face. 

People often think the appeal is about obedience, as a daddy’s girl I think it’s about getting my pussy filled. If daddy wants it I’m giving it to him. It’s about knowing that Daddy takes charge, and there is no such word as no in the dictionary when he is around.

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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.

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Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My roster of submissive men is long. Most thrive under the weight of my boot. Most find peace in the surrender. But then there is Elias. He’s…a bit of a glitch in my system. He doesn’t want simple obedience, he wants to see how far he can push me. Elias is the type of guy who treats my boundaries like suggestions and my commands like challenges to his own crumbling ego.

Last night, for example, he smirked when I told him to kneel. Just as I was about to correct him, his eyes darted to my face with that infuriating, inquisitive glimmer. He wasn’t looking for release, he was looking for a crack in my composure. Instead, he found the cold, clinical end of my patience.

Continue reading “Breaking Elias’ Ego” →

Danika * (844) 332-2639 x 466

I have a delightful fantasy that’s been on my mind for days that I would like your help with. Hopefully you are up for the task. I’ve heard you follow directions well, so I think you might be the perfect fit. Only time will tell. To start, I want you to meet me on the rooftop of where I live. There will be a nice setup waiting for us. Think blankets and pillows laid out, snacks and drinks at fingertips reach. You will be wearing a suit, and I will be wearing the cutest little skirt and top.

Now let me tell you a little bit about what it is I want from you…

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Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

The first one caught my eye at 2 am. A tweet that read, “I’m lost. Need a hand to hold.” The author’s thin‑lined profile picture was of a man with a half‑smile, signed with his handle @MourningMoth. I replied, not with a greeting but with a command. “Close your eyes. Breathe. Count to three, then type ‘ready’.” The reply came instantly. They usually do.

From there, the dance began. I instructed him to write down his limits, his safe words, and the things that made the darkness feel comfortable. He obeyed and explained that each line he typed was a confession he could not make to anyone else. Of course it was! lol

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Puppet Master

Posted 5 months ago by Stella

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

The only light in my apartment is a single bulb swinging from a loose cord. Puppet, my nickname for the man who walks the line between devotion and dread, is already waiting in my living room with his shoulders hunched as if he’s bracing for a storm he cannot see. His eyes remain fixed on the floorboards and I can hear his breath. It sounds shallow, like the rhythm of a heart that beats faster when it knows it is being watched.

“Stella,” he whispers, trembling. I smile and he flinches. The movement is tiny, but enough to tell me he is listening. The rules between us are more of a contract that’s etched in ink and fear. Obey, or the consequences will be more than a bruised ego. He knows the price of disobedience. Exile, humiliation, the kind of silence that follows you into the night.

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Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404

The night I first saw my new little sissy girl, Chrissy, she was perched on a cracked stool with her legs crossed so tightly that she seemed to be holding herself together with nothing but sheer will. Her hair was a clumsy knot of pink and violet extensions and her makeup was more of an attempt than it was a success. She had thick eyeliner that drooped, lipstick that was smeared, and her blush was in all of the wrong places. Her too‑small dress clung to her body like a second skin. She was, indeed, a bit of a hot mess.

We got to talking and she nervously asked me the magic question that all of my sissy girls eventually ask. “Do you think you could help me become beautiful?” There was something raw in the way she asked, though. She was very clearly yearning to be seen by a different kind of audience. She wanted not just beauty, but the kind of beauty that opened doors. The kind that turned the heads of men whose pockets were fatter than their morals.

Continue reading “Sissy Chrissy Wants To Be Beautiful” →