(This the first in a planned series of vignettes about a D/s couple's long-distance relationship and how it evolves over the course of a year. Although their dynamic is fairly new, it has started to deepen. Readers should assume they have already shared those important discussions about limits, consent, and safe practices.)
She dressed carefully, her mind jangling. Excitement and anxiety pulsed through her body. This was all so new to her, and she wanted to get it right. Wanted to be his good girl; longed to show him she was ready for more.
She still struggled with certain things. For example, she always wanted to look nice for him. Be perfectly groomed. But it seemed that mattered less to him than the tell-tale signs that she was turned on by the names he called her, the things he made her do. Which she was, heaven help her. Maybe too much so. With each passing week It was harder to get her head out of the game. She wanted to feel the way he made her feel all the time. Wanted to feel his control wrapped around her like a blanket.
Indulging in a little flight of fancy, she thought about how he'd braided her feelings of arousal and submission and humiliation together into a strong rope, and then neatly bound her with it. Or perhaps it was more like a plaited whip, which he used expertly to bring her both pain and pleasure.
Shaking her head at her nonsensical thoughts, her hand passed over the lacy black thong with gold stars in her lingerie drawer. Instead, with a little sigh, she sought out the pale blue cotton panties, the ones on which she'd penned the word "fucktoy". As her finger traced over the word, she remembered how she'd felt when she wrote it, as he'd directed. Trembling, deeply humiliated, and yet...strangely freed. She somehow knew he'd rather see her in those.
She put on the panties and sat down in front of her laptop. She automatically kept her legs open now, like the little slut he reminded her she was. It made her feel good inside to do so. Not just because it was one of Sir's orders, and not just because it reminded her of her subservience. No, she liked it because it made it nearly impossible for her to ignore her needy pussy. She'd never been so wet in her life as she had been over the past several months since she'd met Sir.
Fortunately, he seemed to enjoy keeping her in that state.
As she scrolled through some of her favorite porn, she felt her toes curl a bit, but she resisted the urge to reach down and stroke her fingers along those swollen lips. The indented slit between them was already damp. Sir hadn't explicitly told her she couldn't touch, but neither had he told her that she could. It was her preference to err on the side of denial. In fact, she relished it. There were times when she found herself wishing that he would forbid her to come for days. Or possibly longer. Her hips rocked at the thought of how her need would skyrocket.
'I am Sir's good horny little girl," she thought to herself, "His humiliation slut." Finally she allowed a single finger to trail over her panties, along her slit, pushing the fabric against it hard enough to define those swollen lips, if anyone were looking. She thought of the times she'd used her dildo to do exactly this. She'd sought out one that looked as much like Sir's cock as possible.
And she'd be seeing him tonight. Possibly he'd let her take his cock in her mouth. Possibly -- if she was a very good girl -- he'd let her swallow his cum. She drifted off into a little reverie, then jerked her mind back to reality a minute later. She mustn't lose track of the time.
Trailing her finger along her slit again, she felt satisfied that her panties were wet enough to please Sir. She rose and went into her bedroom, sitting at her vanity to do her hair and make-up. Gazing into the mirror, she bit her lip. She lifted her breasts out of the low-cut bra she wore and pulled them up, squeezing them roughly for a good long time, then loosening her grip. She could see the blood rush back into them, making her pale skin rosy. She gave each nipple a biting pinch. She hadn't yet had the nerve to try nipple clamps, but it was one of those things that she both hoped and dreaded that he would require of her.
In response to her teasing, she felt her pussy pulse, reminding her of her need. So far, she and Sir had met less than a handful of times in person. Their relationship was still relatively new. Knowing she'd see him tonight, she hadn't allowed herself to come for the past three days. She wanted to be ready for him, ready and eager for whatever he'd demand.
He'd told her not to dress up, they wouldn't be going out. He was staying in a hotel and had already arranged to order a late supper for them. She wiggled into her skintight jeans, noting with satisfaction how the tight crotch outlined her pussy lips and lifted her ass. Then she carefully fastened the small crystal buttons of her form-hugging ivory sweater, interspersed with metallic gold threads. She didn't wear anything underneath except her bra, which was so low-cut that her nipples weren't covered. The slightly rough feel of the metallic threads rubbing against them would keep them tight and bunched, making her arousal obvious.
Straightening her shoulders, she realized that her bra felt tight. Before Sir, she'd never noticed how her breasts grew larger and more swollen when she was aroused. But now it felt like all of her bras were a size too small. It was just one of the myriad ways in which her servitude invaded her thoughts at random times -- when she was at work or even out with friends -- making her remember that she was nothing more and nothing less than Sir's owned slut.
She slipped on her gold heels. She was almost ready to go. Now came the part she was dreading. She went to her special drawer and pulled out the collar and leash she'd picked out when Sir had ordered her to choose them. The pink nylon strap in her hand was so obviously a dog collar that it made her feel anxious to wear it where others could see. But that was what Sir had told her to do tonight. She was to wear it when she entered the hotel, walked through the lobby --sure to be crowded with New Year's Eve revelers -- and took the elevator to his room.
She swallowed nervously as it clicked shut around her throat. Her eyes looked wide and a bit wild. She needed him to calm her, but that wouldn't happen until later. She swallowed again, feeling her throat press against the buckle. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine that it was his thumb, stroking her pulse there.
Steadying herself, she lifted the black leash from the drawer and clipped it to the collar, draping the end of it over one shoulder like a louche necklace. Thank the gods he hadn't told her not to wear a coat. The leash would be hidden. Perhaps the collar would go undetected...or pass as some kind of costume.
Before walking out the door, she was a bundle of nerves. She felt ripe, wet, her body primed and yearning for his touch. Even her lips felt full, lush, trembling. Ready to profess herself his cockslut, his dirty whore. His fucktoy. Ready to beg for his humiliating attentions.
She also felt what she'd come to think of as the tug of his leash. That heady but scary feeling of being his -- his to own, to control, to tease and humiliate until she felt she'd go out of her mind with lust. But also his to pet, to guide, to calm and satisfy. To somehow channel all the secret currents inside her that had been dammed up for so long.
While she navigated the heavy traffic enroute to his hotel, she thought about what she wanted to say to him, what she wanted to ask. It was New Year's Eve, which lent itself to a discussion of resolutions, of plans for the coming year. Did she dare to ask him for what she wanted? She found herself muttering the words out loud as she drove with the flow of other cars. She found it hard to get beyond the start. "Please, Sir...." she kept repeating, until it became a kind of protective mantra against the dark evening enveloping her car.
At last she arrived at the hotel. Thank goodness she'd allotted plenty of time. Once inside the lobby, she looked around for the front desk. He'd told her to check in there when she arrived, that he'd leave an envelope for her with his room number and additional instructions.
Sure enough, the woman at the desk handed her the envelope without a second glance. She felt braver. As she'd thought, there were guests everywhere, many of them sporting more interesting and blinged-out looks than hers. She stopped and rested a hip against one of the plush dark green sofas and ripped the envelope open.
Little slut, I'm in Room 2414. Before you come up, go into one of the bathrooms in the lobby and remove your coat so that your collar and leash are visible to all. You'll also take off your panties and give me a good edge. Afterwards, use those panties to clean up your messy pussy, then crumple them into a ball and keep them in your hand as you take the elevator to my room. If there is no one else in the elevator with you, you may sniff them and think about what a filthy girl you're being for me.
