Before she finally took me for good and all, my Mistress would send me panties. They were to 'inspire' me to write for her, among other things. She liked to remind me that I was still her servant, in spite of the fact that she was (at that time) a married woman, and I was in a relationship as well.
Both her marriage and my relationship were so vanilla that there were bean specks all through them. But we had both tasted the tastier fruit of the BDSM tree; and it can be pretty addictive. It tortured both of us, separately and together. She told me later that her masturbatory fantasies outstripped her sex life with her husband, and certainly my girlfriend couldn't even hold a candle to Mistress, even a Mistress of remembrance only. And some nipple clamps.
Of course, if it were only sex, it would have been easier to deal with. But no, it had to be more complicated than that. Mistress was (and is) the only woman I had ever known that matched me in virtually every way - intellectually, politically, you name it. Sexually? Well, uh, yeah...only beyond my wildest fantasies. The long and the short of it was that she had ended the relationship; I still loved her.
When I had heard she was married, I tried to completely close my mental doors on her. It failed. Of course, even the ring on her finger wasn't enough to keep her from chatting with me from time to time, and occasionally phone. So hope would sprang eternal.
And now the panties. And the stories. She had started with a nice thong, with a combination of lovely scents on them. Something that smelled like perfume, or perhaps a sachet from her undie drawer, and, faintly, her lovely, lusty personal scent. The scent that would turn off my brain.
And that was the problem. That scent...oooh that lovely smell. I would pull out the panties and bury my face in them, snuffling and licking like some crazed beast. My brain would turn off, my cock would stiffen, and my sole thought was the name I would moan into the cloth.
Her name.
Over and over, in fact...it might even become a chant, in a way. Or a prayer, perhaps. That's it - a prayer.
In return for this amazing scrap of cloth, she had asked for another story of my submission and surrender to her. It took a few days to come up with one, but I had finally finished it, and sent it off. She loved it, and a few days later - another pair of panties. This time old and worn...and smelling a lot less like sachet and a lot more like, well, paradise. In fact, she wrote that she masturbated in them, and got them as sopping wet as she could before sealing them in a ziploc, and sending them off.
I lost all control when I got them, again behaving like a beast...and her juices flooding my nostrils and then my tongue...oh god, I came, and came and came. For days I gorged myself on her. And I followed her directions that she wrote me in the email she sent me after she sent the package, and would call out "I am Mistress' slave . . .I belong only to Mistress . . .I will always obey Mistress . . . I will make Mistress a good wife . . ." as I played with myself, the panties over my face, nipple clamps biting me, my left hand clutching at my balls occasionally. And I never failed to lick up all my goo, just as Mistress instructed. I even sent her a picture of me licking my hand clean, she loved that one.
And the stories continued to flow from me... detailing the utter submission and willing slavery of a man to a woman. And with every story, the reward, and new instructions. Before long, it occurred to me that I was not only her willing slut, but she was conditioning me to be ONLY hers, no one else's.
And I didn't mind a bit - in fact it excited me all the more. I even became a willing participant in the exercise. As time progressed, it became more and more obvious to me that when Mistress called, I would come; in any sense of the word.
We continued to email back and forth, and chat; and stories flowed out, and panties and other unmentionables flowed in. Sometimes pictures flowed back and forth, and our love and connection and lust just grew and grew.
One day, it happened. We both had known it would. She couldn't take it anymore - her husband was out of town for some meeting or other for his corporation, and she'd declined his invitation to be his arm candy for the obligatory group dinner.
"They bore the fuck out of me," is what she said to me later.
My girlfriend had been at her house that weekend, about 70 miles from me. I'd gotten an email from Mistress the night before, asking me to meet her online Saturday morning, she wanted to chat.
And chat we had...an epic chat, in fact. Finally, after about 3 hours online, there was a pause in her writing, and my cell phone rang.
