1. First Approach
I was no stranger to night time internet sites and chat rooms. It was my habit to trawl or 'surf' through them when I couldn't sleep – and that recently had been with increasing regularity. The invitation had struck a chord deep within me, an invitation for 'a co-operative submissive, willing to submit her or himself to the directions of a trio of Mistresses' to make immediate contact.
Still, in addition to the vague but insistent prompting from within to respond, a cautionary note also entered my mind. 'What, if anything, would I become involved in? Something I could neither control nor escape from? Don't be daft,' I told my self! 'How could anyone make you do anything you don't want to – from the other end of an anonymous computer link?'
'What exactly would this involve?' I eventually sent, without signature.
The reply came back 'adventures and experiences of a sexual nature.'
Perhaps I'd better introduce myself, fill in some background, so to speak. At the age of 28, at that time I'd recently come to London from a provincial city, to take up a middle management post in a company selling fine art via the internet. As often as not, I worked from home; mine was a lonely existence. Only five feet seven inches tall, with a slim body weighing less than nine stones, with proportionately small hands and feet, I'm hardly 'God's gift to women.' Particularly when you add my fresh faced, fair skinned complexion and curly blond locks. Altogether, I'd never had much success with girls, except as friends – girls were inclined to treat me almost as one of their own sex, even to the extent of sharing quite intimate details of their personal lives.
When I tried to form a relationship it would start out fine, as I deferred to her wishes and allowed her to make any and all decisions; but she would soon tire of that and become irritated by my indecisiveness, and so the relationship would founder.
Other men didn't seem to be able to regard me as anything other than a useful, amiable idiot, onto whom they could offload unwanted tasks or make up a foursome, to be paired off with some unwanted additional female: I'd spent much of my leisure time alone, since I came to London. I have to admit that my attitude to both men and women was highly coloured by my previous family life. My father was a bully of the highest order, given to physically abusing my mother and frightening the life me – for whom he had only the utmost contempt, due to my lack of stature, my minimal physical presence and my inability to partake successfully in any form of sport.
The only member of our family he couldn't control was my sister, eighteen months older and two inches taller than me, with fiery red hair and a body and a temper to match. She stood up to him alright and, strangely, he respected her for it – but it was no use, I couldn't emulate her.
The only decent thing he did for us was to depart this life early, leaving my mother reasonably well off and the three of us to fend for ourselves as best we could. But by then I was incapable of independent thought or action. It wasn't a case of having had my self confidence diminished; I'd never had the opportunity to develop any! I settled to a suddenly peaceful life under the protection of my sister and, to a lesser extent, our mother. It wasn't until four years after his death that I'd managed to acquire some degree of self esteem and moved to an independent life in London – such as it was.
'A trio of Mistresses,' the thought kept nagging; it took me a long time to screw up enough nerve to continue. Even then it wasn't really a world shattering response, 'I'd like to explore this further. J.'
'Okay, we might be willing,' the response came back, 'but who are we talking to? If you have a webcam, plug it in and let's have a look at you.'
With that, an image appeared on my screen. There were indeed three women. Dressed alike in all but colour in lacy satin corselets, panties and bras', with nylon clad legs supported by three suspender straps aside, emanating from the lace hem of the corselet. Their feet were clad in plain court shoes and they wore satin hoods that fitted tight around their heads, with eye slots that left only their nostrils, mouths and chins free.
The one on the left was in shades of yellow, the one in the centre blue and third green. The exposed lower face, shoulders, arms and thighs of the one in blue were as fresh and fair as my own; the one in green had the same pink, slightly freckled complexion as my sister; and the skin of the one in yellow glowed in a glorious golden tan that indicated a sub-continental or maybe Caribbean origin.
I set up my camera link and waited.
The next response, the first instruction, arrived quickly. 'If you are serious, remove your clothes, carefully.'
Had I switched off then things would have been different, but I didn't, I complied. Naked I stood in front of the camera, my face turned down my hands shielding my cock. 'Hands to your sides and turn slowly in front of the camera, so that we can get a good look at you,' the new message read. Again I complied.
I didn't expect the next order: 'Masturbate for us.'
Pretty well hypnotised by now I obeyed, my hands going to my already stiffening and thickening cock, working, caressing with increasing rhythm and frequency until I felt the build up then, suddenly a little devil of my own entering my mind, as I erupted I aimed at the camera spilling my load over the lens, reflected of course in the image now over the screen.
'Time for introductions,' came up on the screen, 'I am Miss Topaz and my two companions, all of whom you must regard as your mistresses, are Miss Emerald and Miss Sapphire. Tomorrow you will acquire four outfits similar to the ones we're wearing, except that yours will be in shades of pink and crimson, and you will log on again tomorrow morning at exactly 1.15am properly dressed – as we are. You will use the name Garnet.'
The screen went blank as a small nervous pulse of excitement started in my groin; tomorrow, or rather today, was Saturday. I could, of course, have ignored the directive I'd received; treated the whole thing as some kind of silly fantasy on my part – to be taken no further, instantly discarded. But I knew that I wouldn't ... or couldn't, somehow I knew I was compelled to obey.
