Pt. 2 (Starbucks)
I glanced at my watch for what seemed the hundredth time. Was it the right day? Was I at the correct location? Why a Starbucks, of all places? Unable to keep my eagerness for the encounter in check I had arrived at the Starbucks earlier than instructed. Two cups of coffee later the jitters were beginning to set in. Other than my early arrival, I had followed instructions to the letter; I was wearing jeans, a dark t-shirt, and was seated near the front window with my laptop logged on to the special web mail account. The cafe had almost been deserted when I had arrived but was starting to get busier as people began to venture out into the bright Sunday morning. My reflection gazed back at me as I stared out into the slowly filling parking lot of the strip mall. I was thinking about the weekend before.
I had arrived back at my apartment in a fever of excitement and frustration. The interview had turned my preconceptions upside down; I had expected a dramatic encounter in some dark, carefully staged dungeon ruled by a leather-clad dominatrix who dominated me with an assortment of grim devices. Instead I had found myself in an ancient dairy barn surrounded by a beautiful sunlit field and transfixed by a lady whose casual elegance and calm expectation of total service was more compelling than any of my fantasies. The only prop had been a simple strip of raw black silk and the only restraints, bungee cords and the rough wooden slats of a milking stall. The web mail address and password that she had scribbled across my buttocks were impossible to read without contorting my body into a series of lewd postures. The realization that she had deliberately placed the writing so that I would have to watch myself bend and twist in order to read it made me feel as though she was controlling me from afar...that I was somehow her puppet. It only increased my desperate need to touch myself as I logged onto the account and prayed that there would be a message permitting me to masturbate. There was a message! My elation, however, turned to bewilderment as I read it.
I AM VERY PLEASED WITH YOUR PERFORMANCE THIS AFTERNOON. IT IS TIME TO BEGIN PREPARING FOR OUR NEXT MEETING. TO THIS END YOU WILL BEGIN THE FOLLOWING REGIMEN:
AT LEAST THREE TIMES A DAY YOU WLL STIMULATE YOURSELF IN THE FOLLOWING MANNER ONLY. NAKED, YOU WILL KNEEL, CLASP YOUR ARMS BEHIND YOUR BACK, AND RUB YOUR ORGAN AGAINST ANY CONVENIENT INANIMATE OBJECT. YOU WILL CONCENTRATE ON THE SCENE THAT YOU WITNESSED AT OUR PREVIOUS MEETING. YOU WILL BRING YOURSELF AS CLOSE TO ORGASM AS POSSIBLE WITHOUT ACTUALLY REACHING ONE. YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY FORBIDDEN TO ACHIEVE AN ORGASM UNTIL I PERMIT IT. EACH EVENING I SHALL EXPECT YOU TO SUBMIT A DAILY LOG DETAILING THE TIME AND PLACE OF THESE ACTIVITIES.
YOU WILL BEGIN IMMEDIATELY.
Despite my bewilderment, I found myself complying with the bizarre instructions. I slipped off my clothes and looked around for something to rub my aching erection against. My mind was a welter of emotions as I knelt at the corner of the computer table and clasped my arms behind my back. On one hand the humiliating demands were deeply exciting; on the other, deeply frustrating. Should I simply disobey, please myself, and report what she wanted to hear? It was a tempting idea but ultimately an unacceptable one. If I took that course I would merely be a pale character in someone else's fantasy...throwing away an opportunity to experience the reality of what had haunted my fevered imagination. Again the feeling of being her puppet overwhelmed me. I could almost hear her low laugh and, although I was alone in the apartment, I felt her eyes on me as I began to pump myself against the table leg.
The feeling was luxurious and I heard myself groan aloud as the pleasure washed through me. My hips moved on their own volition, frantically steering my swollen, leaking flesh across the wood. I was trying to focus on the erotic spectacle that I had been a part of that afternoon but the novelty of my situation kept pulling me back to the present. How was it possible that this could bring so much pleasure...could be so deeply satisfying? The beginning of a powerful orgasm was building inside me far sooner than I would ever have thought possible. The temptation to let go rushed up on me again, battering at me almost physically. Gasping and trembling, I forced myself to stop. I was hunched over, hips pulled back, a silver strand of my pre-come still connecting me to the smooth wood. I stayed that way for a long time before climbing carefully to my feet. The orgasmic tension was still coiled in me like a spring...tense and fragile, wanting to explode.
It was a feeling that stayed with me for the rest of the week. I carried it with me embedded in the pit of my stomach; an agonizing yet ecstatic sensation that was always in danger of bursting free. I anticipated each bout of self-stimulation with a mingled sense of excitement and dread, knowing that each time would wind the spring a little tighter. By the end of the week I was in a constant state of arousal; semi-erect at all times...my skin hot and sensitive. Sleep had eluded me for several days. I just lay in my bed, my body pulsing in sympathy with my erection. Twice I had lost my resolve and leapt out of bed, racing to the corner of the computer table, desperate to make myself come. But even as I sank down to pleasure myself against the table leg I knew that I would not go all the way. The mere fact that I had assumed the required position and did not touch myself with my hands was the unspoken proof of my obedience. Both times I brought myself to the edge and stopped. As I logged those midnight entries I could hear her laughter.
A low tone from my computer summoned me back from my reverie...there was a message waiting.
MY CAR IS ENTERING THE PARKING LOT NOW. CLICK ON THE WEB ADDRESS PRINTED BELOW.
At the sight of the message I was instantly erect. I complied with the instructions and then looked out the window to watch as a black Bentley with tinted windows moved smoothly down the rows of parked cars and turned neatly into an unoccupied space. My attention was drawn back to my computer screen as it resolved itself into an image of a seated woman's lower torso and crossed legs. As the image flickered and moved slightly, it became apparent that this was a live web-cast video. The image reduced itself to one third of its former size as the low tone summoned me back to the original web-mail account.
WATCH.
