We have never seen each other in the flesh. We live two separate lives, yet online, in our little world, we have a common link with each other, a common need. Recently, this has spilled over to our actual, real lives. It’s a bit like two areas of the brain sending out nerve tendrils to try and communicate. One part of the brain is in real mode, and the other is a virtual playground. Slowly, the nerve endings start to find each other, only touching at first, before they start to twist and turn together; pulling the real word into the virtual one, or vice versa.
That’s how it all started. I met Emma online, we used to exchange emails describing our needs and wants. This went on for quite a while until we exchanged phone numbers and started texting. Slowly, the real word started to feel the impact of what we talked about online. We had to be careful, covert, and hide our secret as much as we could.
We have come a long way since then.
Emma is a self-confessed slut. She loves sex and it would be fair to say that she doesn’t get enough of it. I suppose it started when she planted the thought in my head that I should be her Master. It came about one evening when she told me that she went onto a BDSM website and met someone from it. I quickly looked it up and found it intriguing.
I swear, if we were a couple, we would be on that forum site having a lot of fun together. But we’re not. All I have, is the ability to tease her. I think I upset her one night when I told her, through a chat window, that I didn’t think she was doing what I told her to do. She took that to mean that I was not serious about commanding her or being her Master.
That all changed when I told her, that from the following Monday, she was not allowed to have an orgasm unless I told her she could. I told her that she could masturbate, which she did quite often in the comfort of her bath, but she was not allowed to come while masturbating. I told Emma that I was serious and no matter what time of day it was, she had to text me to get permission to bring herself off.
Emma agreed but I wondered whether she would. Knowing my luck it would be the week she decided to take off, from masturbating that is.
I never heard from her on Monday. We spoke online and had exchanged an email or two, but there was no urgent text message from her. Emma wasn’t pleading on her mobile to me, to let her come on her fingers, dildo or vibrator.
I had a text from her at lunchtime on Tuesday.
“I’m fucking horny.”
It certainly brought a smile to my face. “Why is that?” I replied.
“I masturbated last night and I didn’t come. I really wanted to – badly!”
“Good, I’m glad you’re listening to me, as you should of course.”
A smiley character was returned from her, and I left the texts as they were.
In the evening I was on our favourite site, the one with all the dirty stories, where we can message each other and send those, all important, emails. A message box appeared on my screen.
“Can I come, please?”
I thought about it for a while. I pictured her, in her bath, furiously masturbating. I wondered how many fingers she had pushed up her pussy, or whether it was her glass dildo filling her while her fingers slowly circled her clit. She had obviously stopped with one hand in order to send the text; unless of course, she used voice recognition.
A smile crept over my face as I bit the edge of my lip. It fascinated me to think of her poised and ready to come on my words. I figured she would be looking at her device, watching and waiting for that all important “OK” back from me.
“Please, may I come, Sir?”
That brought a bigger smile to my face. Now she was getting desperate. I liked that, but to pressure me to give her the go ahead was not the action of a true submissive. A lesson needed to be taught here.
I shot a number of questions back to her, “Why? What are you doing? Where are you?”
“In the bath, at home, masturbating, please, I need to come.”
“What’s giving you the need to come?” I asked.
“Reading a really horny story,” replied Emma.
I laughed at that, “What’s it about?” I asked.
“It’s about a woman that gets fucked by a stranger in a park. It’s really horny.”
I watched the screen for some time. It must have seemed like ages for Emma, but for me, it was about twenty seconds or so.
“It’s not one of my stories, then?” I asked her. Knowing full well it was not. I realised the sentence that would come next after I typed those words. There was no response from the other side of the internet. I guessed Emma had realised it too, but I put her out of her misery just in case.
“You mustn’t come. I forbid it.”
I watched the screen and saw no activity. There was no pleading with me, no retort at all.
A message finally arrived about thirty seconds later, “Thank you for letting me know. I’m sorry, I will be more thoughtful next time.”
I wanted to say ‘thank you’ back to her, but that would not have been right. It would have been out of character, to even allow her to find out, that I almost felt sorry for her, for the predicament she had put herself in.
“Good. Now, go back to your masturbating, and if I find out that you pushed yourself over the top, there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Master,” replied Emma.
“Oh! And you may stop masturbating in ten minutes if you like.” It was only fair to give her a timeout, a limit, so to speak.
“Thank you, Master,” came her reply.
We never spoke for the rest of the evening.
The following day we started by texting each other. I never asked her whether she obeyed me or not, and she never offered any further comment on the evening before. I decided to tease her by suggesting naughty things for her to do. She did go into the toilet, at work, and send me a picture of her tits and bra from her mobile phone. She did tell me that she had slipped a finger up her pussy while at her desk, and then sucked her finger into her mouth. I told her how nice that must have tasted and she agreed with me.
I knew that Emma would leave work at around four in the afternoon. I left my work shortly after.
It was eight thirty in the evening when I got a text from her. It was along the same lines as the day before. “Can I come? Please.”
This time I messaged her back from the phone. The same sort of response as previously, “What are you reading?” I asked.
“A horny story called Isabel’s Slave,” she told me.
I grinned and nodded to myself.
“That’s one of mine,” I replied.
“Yes, may I come, Master?”
I thought about it for a while. “How close are you?” I asked.
“Pretty close,” was Emma’s reply.
“What are you using?”
“My vibrator, on slow, just the flick of a button and I will come.
I felt for her. I really did. I looked at my phone, my fingers made the motion of flipping a switch as if the vibrator controls were being increased. As if I had an App for her vibrator on my phone. Again, I found myself biting my lip in contemplation.
“No.” I sent the message and waited for a response, then added, “Maybe you will be lucky tomorrow?”
“Thank you Master,” Emma replied, “You are so considerate.”
I wasn’t sure whether her response was sarcastic or genuine, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt.
Thursday came, and nearly went. Well it would have, until my phone buzzed at about nine thirty in the evening. I was almost ready to go to bed.
I sent a text back, “Let me guess, you’re in the bath and you want to come, you’re reading one of my stories and you’re on the verge.” As soon as I sent it, I could see her, in my mind, nodding to herself in the bath.
“Yes,” Emma replied, quickly followed by, “please Master, please.”
“Are you shaking with anticipation?” I asked.
“Yes I am, please, Master, please.”
“Pinch your nipples for me,” I told her.
“I’m squeezing them, hard,” replied Emma.
After a while I got the text, “I could come, squeezing them, if you let me, Master?”
“Is your husband home?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Where is he?”
“Probably in the lounge, I’m in the bath,” Emma said.
I had a wicked idea that spread through my head like wild fire. I don’t know what drove it forward but I was on the verge of telling Emma what I wanted her to do next. I wondered whether she would, while I was about to break a golden rule, as well.
“Phone me, I will let you come if I can hear you.”
I waited.
It wasn’t long before the phone rang. “Hi,” I said.
“Hiya, how are you?” Was Emma’s reply.
I’m not sure where the pleasantries came from but her voice was quiet.
“Emma, you can speak quietly,” I told her, “but when you come, I want to hear it, loudly. Do you understand the consequences of that?” It was a half question, half statement.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“So you want to come do you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Yes, please what?”
“Yes, please, Master. Please Master, I really need this.”
I waited a few seconds, “Emma, you may come for me after you put the phone on speaker.”
She must have done that as soon as I finished the sentence. I heard her sigh down the phone, long drawn out sighs permeated the bathroom. I heard splashing from the water as she moved in the bath. I heard her hands flap and splash against the otherwise, still water.
“Pinch your nipples with your fingers,” I told her.
I heard the echo of my words resonate from the confined area of the tiled bathroom.
I heard Emma let out a tiny scream. More gasping followed, and then a sudden gasp escaped her lips, “Fuck, that’s good.”
“Come on Emma, come for me,” I urged, “Let me hear you come. Are you using your fingers?”
Another sigh and moan left her lips, “Yes. Oh! Fuck yes, this is so fucking good. My fucking nipples are aching.”
I heard Emma pinch her nipples more than once, each time she did, a gasp or moan was ripped from her lips. I could feel her orgasm building. In my head, I could see her body rise and fall in the water as she lifted her bum off the bath; her fingers penetrating her on her upward strokes.
“I’m going to come. Fuck, I’m going to come.”
I heard grunts echo down the phone. “I’m coming Master, for you, Master.”
Her words escaped her mouth in between gasps of air going inwards. I could sense her clenching her stomach and rocking herself to and fro as she drove her fingers into her cunt.
With that, Emma let out a loud gasp as her release was complete. Her fingers had done their job, as they so often do. I like to think that my presence helped the situation along a little, and considering the last words she uttered before her orgasm hit her, I would say that was certain.
Emma gasped several more times, five to be precise, before she calmed down enough to settle herself back in the water.
I heard a loud knock on the door. “Emma, are you alright in there?”
It was her husband. I wanted to shout down the phone that she was alright, but that would have been so wrong, in so many ways.
“Yeah, I’m OK,” replied Emma, “I slipped a little getting out of the bath,” she responded quickly.
I gave her ten out of ten for thinking on the spot, and another twenty out of ten for inventing such a lie and controlling her words so carefully. I could hear her breathe slowly and considerately. After all, her orgasm was still probably coursing through her veins as she was, so rudely, interrupted.
The room fell quiet. I heard some mumbling in the background and then Emma shouted, “I’ll be out soon.”
Emma’s quiet voice returned, “I have to go, was that good for you?”
“It was, thank you Emma, you have been a good girl and good girls are always rewarded.”
“Thank you Master. I’m so glad that I have pleased you. I really am.”
Her words were genuine, thoughtful and so nice to hear.
Throughout the whole of Friday, we chatted about what happened the night before, how we got so much closer to reality and further away from the virtual world that we inhabited. It was unbelievable to hear her orgasm being ripped from her own lips down the phone. Emma was on a high with me, over those actions from the night before, and we more or less chatted about it all day.
At ten thirty in the evening I got a message from Emma, “Can you talk, I need to talk?”
I picked up the phone and found a quiet area of the house. This was something that I never usually did. It was asking to be caught out, but her written words sounded urgent.
I rang Emma’s number and waited. As soon as she answered I started to ask questions, “What’s wrong? What is it?”
“My husband wanted sex tonight, he got amorous and he started to touch me, feel me, I got so turned on,” Emma replied. Her words were quiet but desperate.
“Bloody hell, did he fuck you?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “I couldn’t stop him, but I didn’t come, I promise. I just wanted to tell you that I didn’t come.”
She was, almost sobbing down the phone. I could sense that her words were shivering as they left her lips. I could tell that her whole body was trembling as she verified that she was true to her Master.
“I got off him as soon as he came. He doesn’t take long these days,” she giggled, “I didn’t come, I promise.”
“It’s OK, calm down,” I assured her, “there’s nothing for you to worry about.” If I could have stroked my hand through her hair as I said those words, I would have done.
Emma sobbed once more, and I felt another splash of guilt coming my way, “I didn’t know whether sex was allowed, I’m sorry.”
I found myself smiling, not at Emma, but at her naivety, honesty and obedience, “Emma, it’s OK. If you remember, I only told you were not to come while you masturbated.”
I could sense the relief flow over her body. I could almost see her hold her head upwards and smile to herself as she held the phone in her hands. She let out a resounding, “thank you.”
“You’ve been a very good girl this week. Why don’t you go back to your hubby and give him a fuck to remember. Eh!”
“I will, and thank you,” her words were genuine.
Emma followed them with, “Thank you, Master.”
I could sense her relief at the thought that she had not disobeyed her Master.
I didn’t expect those words. I listened to the silence of the phone for a few seconds before folding it into its case. I looked at it, but my mind was two hundred miles away; like a fly on the wall, I imagined her shelving her mobile phone and climbing back into bed, mounting her husband and fucking him to oblivion with a smile on her face, safe in the knowledge, that she had my permission to do so.
