It was 4:00 AM when my phone illuminated the dark room with his unmistakable text: "Get yourself wet for me." My pulse quickened, the mere words igniting a flurry of anticipation throughout my body. Despite the miles that separated us, his command bridged the distance, stoking the fire of my desires.
I reached for the phone, trembling slightly with excitement. His voice, rich and velvety, poured through the speaker, enveloping me in a wave of arousal. "Good morning, Sir," I greeted, my voice quivering with eager submission.
"Are you ready to play, my little bitch?" His tone was thick with dominance, each word dripping with authority and laced with the promise of pleasure interwoven with exquisite pain. My response was a breathy, "Yes, Sir," filled with the desperation to please him, to be molded by his will.
As he spoke, his voice seemed to caress me from afar, evoking the sensation of his hands on my skin. "Get that giant dildo and wand vibrator ready for me, cunt. You will have an orgasm, but only when I permit it," he instructed, his voice a tantalizing whisper that sent shivers down my spine. My hands obediently gathered the toys, my skin tingling with every imagined touch.
His next words were a command to imagine his presence: "Now, picture my hands tracing every curve of your body, each inch yielding under my touch." My hands mimicked his, gliding across my flesh, each stroke fueled by his verbal caresses, pushing me closer to the brink of release.
"I'm tracing your neck, down to your collarbone, reaching your breasts," he continued, his voice smooth and deliberate. I could almost feel his fingertips, teasing my nipples into hard peaks, my body responding ardently to his imagined touch.
With a deep, seductive chuckle, he guided me further, "Imagine my hand slipping between your thighs, feeling how wet you are for me." His words painted a vivid picture of intimacy, my own hands now a proxy for his, exploring the heat and wetness he had commanded me to reveal.
"Tell me, slut, are you wet for me?" he asked, a note of demand lacing his husky whisper. "Yes, Sir," I gasped out, my voice heavy with lust and obedience, my body aching for release under his commanding tone.
As I maneuvered the dildo inside, conforming to his dictates, my moans filled the room—each a testament to his control. He was Master even from miles away, dictating my pleasure with the precision of a conductor leading an orchestra.
"Good little bitch," he praised, and the simple acknowledgment spurred my desire higher. I teetered on the edge, following his rhythm, denying my climax until his word would grant me release.
"I just imagined my dick inside you, completely still, while you're rubbing your clit and I tease your nipples…” he described, his voice thick with arousal. This fantasy sent a new wave of desire coursing through me, pushing me to the limits of my restraint.
"Who does this pussy belong to?" he questioned, his tone both stern and arousing.
"You, Sir," I replied, my voice thick with the intensity of my arousal.
"And who derives pleasure from this wet pussy?"
"You, Sir," I reiterated, each affirmation binding me tighter to his will.
The session stretched on, each command he uttered sculpted my actions, drawing me deeper into subservience. When he finally allowed, "Cum now, slut," the release was explosive, a crescendo of pent-up desire that shattered through me, leaving me breathless and quivering.
As the call dwindled to a close, his final words lingered in the air, "You're such a good little slut for me. I own you, completely and utterly." His declaration was a seal of our dynamic, his dominance imprinted deeply within me.
Even after the screen went dark, his presence lingered like a shadow, his control a constant echo in my mind, leaving me adrift in thoughts of him, perpetually waiting for his next command, his next game. The longing for his dominance was an insatiable flame, endlessly fueled by our shared dance of desire and submission.
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