I poked absently at the flashing yellow instant message button on my laptop and sipped my coffee. Like most evenings, I'd been drawn back to the keyboard, searching through Personal Ads, sifting through the lists of New Smiles and Backstage Passes I'd received from men I knew I'd probably never meet. This message was from a man half my age, from Russia. I deleted it without responding and reached for a cigarette.
Inhaling, I tried to remember when I had actually stopped making any effort to be part of the human race. It seemed like decades since I'd been on a real date. And even longer since I'd been with a man I hadn't met first through the 15 inch screen sitting on my lap. My world had become a series of cyber-dates and delete tabs; my social life a virtual mirage of reality.
The instant message button started to flash for a second time. Gut instinct told me it was the young Russian again, so I ignored it. A pop-up appeared, offering free shipping on prescription drugs with any orders over a hundred dollars. I considered clicking on it and seeing if they had anything to cure boredom, but hit the close key instead.
The message button still nagged at me, and I knew it wouldn't stop till I opened it, so I tapped it with a finger and read its contents. The sentence was direct and to the point.
"Read this bitch."
I lit another cigarette and scrolled down to the next line.
"Give me your phone number and don't even THINK about disobeying me."
I clicked on the profile tab, hoping for a picture of this arrogant, yet unsettlingly intriguing, new admirer. He hadn't uploaded a photo, and his personal profile wasn't very informative at all. Height, average. Weight, average. All the other details were left blank, giving me no idea who this man was, except that he lived in the same city as me, and went by the handle RUFF-N-UFF4U.
I chewed on a fingernail, debating whether to write back or not. I had no intention of giving him my phone number, but some clever response was definitely called for. I typed the words " bite me asshole" and sent it off. I pictured him reading it as I went to refill my coffee cup. When I'd returned, the button was flashing again. I jabbed at it. In big letters, it read,
" GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING PHONE NUMBER"
Coffee cup poised half way to my mouth, I read the message over and over. Almost without knowing it, I hit reply and typed in my phone number, then snapped the send button. I put down the cup and realized I was holding my breath. Robotic-like, I left the couch and stood near the phone. When it rang seconds later, I wasn't ready for the commanding voice I heard at the other end of the line . "You will address me as Sir, with a capital S in written form. Go to your bedroom ,take off your clothes, and tell me when you're done."
It wasn't as much an order as it was a challenge, and I took it, undressing along the way, leaving clothes in a trail until I was able to assure him that I was in the bedroom , and naked. He cracked out the next order, and I laid down on the comforter, face up.
There was a pause at his end, and the only sound was of his breathing, slow and effortless , whereas mine was becoming erratic as I waited on him. Finally he spoke, and I pressed the receiver hard to my ear, already missing the sound of his voice.
"Spread your legs and masturbate. Do it now."
My fingers moved mechanically to slide inside myself, and I felt the dampness there. I could still here him breathing, and my fingers matched his pace, measured and systematic. There was a part of my body that wanted to deny him, and myself, to this foreign state of pleasure, but an even bigger part of me just wanted to run with it, to savor it , to close my eyes and simply let it rule my senses. The gentle stimuli of his breath in my ear was driving me to an almost unbeknown height of passion, and I found myself hovering on the rim of an orgasm.
The words, "Stop masturbating, now" didn't register at first, and I continued the pleasing assault on my clitoris , just heartbeats away from reaching climax.
"Bitch, I said stop masturbating now"
This time I obeyed, removing my fingers and leaving my body hot with unspent need. I heaved into the mouthpiece, practically crying from the tension. I wasn't sure what kind of game I was involved in, but the rules were different from any other I'd played before.
This man, this entity, had control of my body via a phone line , and even though I wanted nothing more than to finish the job he'd first told me to start, I didn't have the courage to continue. I feared the wrath of a man I'd never even met.
"What is you arousal level right now bitch, and whenever I ask you that from now on, I want you to answer on a scale of one to ten, ten being the highest'.
The number eight escaped from my lips, and I waited once again for the sound of his voice. I didn't have to wait long
"Continue masturbating but don't cum until I give you permission. Is that understood?" I nodded, then whispered, "yes Sir" into the phone, my fingers returning to the hot spot between my legs.
"You will forget anything you've ever learned about vanilla relationships as of now." he said, " After today, you will only masturbate when I give you permission, and you only climax to please me. Is that understood?"
My mind couldn't even conceive what this man was referring to. Vanilla relationship? Masturbating with permission? I was lost, but my fingers were working magic on my body, and his voice seemed a necessity to me. I answered with a "yes Sir".
"What is your arousal level right now?"
"Nine Sir, I'm close to coming "
I expected him to tell me to stop, as he'd done before, but instead he ordered me to come, right at that moment, and to ask permission before allowing myself to do so.
I could feel the sensation imploding, and I whispered the words,
" please Sir, can I come?"
And with his breathy "yes", I did. My back arched and a sigh caught in my throat. It seemed like it could last forever, and I was in no rush for it to end. I closed my eyes and a smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
"Do you have anything to say to me?" he asked.
As though I had been rehearsing for this moment my entire life, I said the words I sensed he was waiting for. "Thank you Sir". There was a click, and the phone went dead in my hands.
Morning came way too soon. I had slept periodically, but always awoke with the sense that something was different; that my life had changed somehow without me even knowing it. And now I felt groggy as though I'd been drugged, almost like a hang over but without the nausea.
The alarm clock let off its distress signal, and I listened to a southern preacher spreading the word of god across the airwaves. I was still naked, telephone still clenched in my right hand. Little flashes of last nights behavior flooded in between the prayers and hymns.
I reviewed them all in my head as the Twelve Commandments were recited, waiting, almost expecting to feel a sense of shame or remorse. But those feelings never came. Instead I could feel my body heat rise; my armpits became damp and a tiny trail of sweat ran down my left breast. By the time he was at "Thou Shall Not Covet Thy Neighbors Wife", I had long stopped resisting the sweet ache between my thighs, and my fingers were carrying out the silent orders of the man on the phone from the night before.
I put down the receiver and pinched my own nipple, feeling a twinge of discomfort, then I pinched it harder. This time the pain shot deep inside me, down low, down to where my hand was. I imagined him there in the room, seeing him as an imposing figure, tall and dark, with eyes that never left my face as I performed for him. Pictured his daunting presence beside my bed , urging me on as my fingers moved faster and faster.
I bent one arm behind my back, as though it were handcuffed to the mattress. The preacher was moving on to the portion of his show where he invited his followers to send him a percentage of their pay check as evidence of their dedication to god. But the voice in my head was preaching a different tune, and I could practically feel him now as he positioned his body above me, his groin gnashing against mine.
I was just a few strokes away from reaching climax when the phone rang. I ignored it. He was inside of me now, his full weight pounding against me like a wave on the shore. In my head, I could hear him calling me filthy names, degrading me, vilifying me, his breath humid against my ear. The answering machine kicked in and I heard my short greeting right before the beep. Then a voice, a mans voice, hissing into the receiver.
" I know your masturbating right now. I can feel it. Weren't you planning on asking me permission first?" and then a pause. "Answer me right now."
My hand stopped in mid stroke and I fumbled for the phone. I squeezed the talk button, but didn't say a word.
" Don't ever ignore my call bitch. Do you understand me?"
I nodded yes, adding "I'm sorry Sir." He paused again, this time longer, as though immersed in something else all together. My body was tense with passion and the sound of his voice was just magnifying the effect; the urge to masturbate became almost unbearable.
"And this is the last time you'll masturbate without calling me first, understood? You're mine now, you will do as I say. And if you decide to disobey, there will be consequences. I demand your best behavior at all times. Got it?"
