Tuesday; the morning after the lunch before. I’m still tingling from my encounter with my boyfriend’s son, but thankfully it’s balanced by the headache that the same encounter also left me with. What I really needed was a nice quiet day at work, I had a hundred simple tasks that I could do that would take my mind off everything. The last thing I needed was to get an email from Ben.
It said simply this:
Log into the instant chat messenger.
Not even signed. I knew it was from him of course, not least because his name appeared in the sender column, but it was also recognizable by his breathtaking arrogance. Another male line trait in their f****y. For the first of what I guessed would probably be many, many times, I closed down all critical thinking faculties and simply logged in as bidden. He’d added me to his list of chat buddies, and the message came up more or less immediately and was accompanied by the little tinkling bell sound.
> How are you?
I scrabbled around the monitor, looking for any control that might in any language be marked ‘volume’. Several hieroglyphs of possibly Martian origin seemed to indicate half an orange, the big bang, and the water slide at the leisure centre. The message sat expectantly on my screen, seemingly mocking my technical ineptitude. I may have a Masters’, but I can’t turn down the noise from the telly. Ignoring the problem for a moment I typed out a perfunctory reply.
> Very well, thank you. How are you?
Nice and non-committal. No sins indulged with that reply.
> Also very well, thank you for asking.
Before I could think of something clever to reply with that didn’t make me sound like a wanton slut, the bell tinkled again.
> Did you have a good time yesterday afternoon?
How do you answer a question like that? ‘Well yes, I do enjoy a good rogering from a random stranger half my age who turns out to be my boyfriend’s son’. In fact I was about to start typing it, before thinking better. Plumping again for the non-committal, I typed
> It’s a lovely bar, very trendy, and I hear the food is nice too.
Jeez, I could have shot myself. If that isn’t an open invitation to be taken out again then I simply don’t know what is. When the bell tinkled again a minute later I didn’t want to Alt-tab back and look at it. I did though, of course.
> Do you like being tied up?
I wasn’t sure what the rules to this game were, so I plumped for the Englishman-in-Aya-Napa approach and simply went in headlong without thought of the consequences.
> That was only my second time, actually. And I’m sure you’ll recall being there for my first.
The reply was obvious.
> Did you like it?
Recalling the scene, the obvious answer was yes. I absolutely bl**dy loved it, in fact, and just dwelling on it for two or three minutes led me to have to cross my legs. Tightly.
>I did. Do you like tying people up?
The answer was again swift.
> I like tying people up, but I like many things besides. Not keen on being tied up myself, mind.
> You do surprise me. I get the feeling you like to be in control, in all things.
Should I have said that? There was a hiatus while he obviously composed an answer.
> It’s a question of trust. If the right person were to come along then perhaps I would indulge them.
Again I could have shot myself when, firmly ensnared in the game, I rapped out
> Is that an invitation?
Another pause whilst he composed an answer and I gnashed at my fist. Most unladylike, my mother would have said in between blows to my head.
> You don’t have it in you. You’re happier being a submissive, I can tell that now.
> Of course you can’t. You barely know me.
> You logged in to this chat program immediately, did you not? You didn’t seem to put up much of an argument the other day, whatever it was that was being done to you.
He makes a good point. I can imagine myself as a dominatrix: ‘Is that okay? Shall I loosen those straps? Ooh, let me get some cream for those lashes, careful now this will sting…’
> I take your point, but that doesn’t mean that you can do whatever you want to me you know.
> Of course not. As I said, it’s a question of trust. You must trust me to do such things as will only cause you the right amount of pain.
> The right amount of pain?
> Of course. So much of life, and sex, is about pain.
> Not all things in sex and life are about pain!
> That depends on your point of view, but the truly memorable things certainly are. You feel most alive when you extend yourself, when you take a step further than you thought you could. That’s when you become most aware of yourself as a person.
> You did all this in your psych class?
Waiting for a response, I watched and waved as some of the girls in the office left for lunch. The bell disturbed my reverie.
> I imagine that this is first time you have ever cheated on a partner, am I right?
I winced. Seeing it there in black and white on the screen hammered home a point I had become blissfully accomplished at turning my back on. No, I’d never cheated on a partner before, this was indeed my first time. And talk about jumping in at the deep end – in the last couple of weeks I’d slept with my partner’s son, the son’s best friend, the son’s football buddy, and a prostitute that the son works with; plus a woman I met in a bar and a stripper that we met later that night. But that was my own little side venture and Ben knew nothing about that!
Still, I didn’t want to advertise the fact that I was belatedly sowing my wild oats so I plumped for a more tactful reply.
> That’s right, casual sex – especially with a stranger – has never really been my sort of thing.
> And yet you enjoyed it, did you not? You were the one who initiated the kiss. You were the one who suggested losing clothes. You had ample chance to walk away from the situation at any point. But you didn’t. The whole experience made you feel more heightened, fired-up, sexually, am I right?
> I think I am. I also think that there is any number of things that you haven’t tried out before the other day.
I was not sure that I was happy with the way this was going. The conversation was slipping out of my control and yet, as he suggested, I was unable to help myself. I was submissive even unto the words he typed.
>I wonder what else you have not done?
I did not want to answer this question, so I simply sat and waited until ‘Ben is typing a message’ appeared again at the bottom of the screen.
> I was right about the fact that you had never been with another woman before I introduced you to what you could accomplish in that field.
> Typical male fantasy! How sad that you should slide down such a stereotypical route…
> You see, you are not open to new ideas or experiences at all. I think you may even be just a little uptight about your whole sexual identity, and unwilling to try new things.
I knew, I knew, I knew I should not let him be goading me into responses like my next, but the Irish in me rose to the surface at the wrong time.
> I am perfectly willing to try anything once!
The response was lightning fast.
> You have a webcam, I assume?
I do. We use it for net-meetings. Some idiot whizz-k** at head office had the idea, but the point was should I tell Ben that?
> There’s no point denying it, I can see from your Properties dialogue box that you do. Turn it on.
> Shut your office door and turn it on.
The door was closed anyway, but I stood and opened it slightly, peering through to see if anyone was about. I could hear voices from somewhere in the building, but most people would be at lunch by now. I closed the door firmly, listening for the decisive click. The next message was already on screen.
> Good. I’m willing to bet that on some of my theories.
> What theories are they?
> Firstly, that you are a submissive by nature and will do as you are asked. My second theory that you are very strait-laced. These will combine to present considerable emotional turmoil, yet the former instinct will win out over the latter.
> And no doubt you think you can prove this?
> But of course. Will you indulge me? Again!
I didn’t know whether I should, but, wavering, I plumped for going with his experiment, at least to begin with. As curiosity’s cat stood with a knife at its own wrist, I realised that merely by acceding to his request I had proved him right. I prayed that he would not realise this.
> See! Just by typing in you have proved me right!
Lord, help me.
> However, I too am interested in proving my theory in a more empirical manner, so we shall proceed with the experiment. Is that a pair of dice that I see behind you?
The two oversized wooden dice, each roughly the size of a plum and painted white, were a leftover from a play we’d done a while back. I don’t know why I’d kept them, but I was sure that I was now about to regret it. I reached over and threw them on the desk in front of me, not intentionally rolling them. The bell sounded quickly.
> Could you adjust the angle of the webcam just very slightly down please?
I realised that he wanted to see where the dice would land, which was fair enough. I wanted to make the point that I didn’t consider this one-way visual interaction particularly fair, but decided to leave it, for the moment at least. My curiosity was following my pussy and becoming aroused. Unlike our last encounter though, I was in control. At any time, I could turn off the webcam and log out of the instant chat program. For now, we could play, and I would deal with the conscience, sorry consequence, later.
> I see that the dice show seven, which is very apt. We’re going to play a game based on a popular TV game, except I think they use cards on TV. The dice show seven. I want you to decide whether the next roll will show a higher or lower number than seven. When you have announced your decision to me, you can roll the dice.
> Then what happens.
> If you get it wrong, then you have to pay a forfeit of my choosing. I may ask you to do something, or I may ask you a question.
> That’s not fair! What about if I get it right?
> Quid pro quo. Okay, you can’t see me, but you may ask me anything you want.
> What do I get out of it?
> Think of it as a chance to get to know me.
> That’s not much of a prize. And if I don’t want to play?
> Log off and go to lunch.
His answer sat there, brooding and silent, the electronic equivalent of Mr. Darcy. There was no follow-up, so it was simply down to me to decide whether to continue. I didn’t want to, but inexplicably the memory of the an earlier night flew into my head unbidden. A date when not only had Richard been late, but the restaurant we went to was rubbish, he’d forgotten to book a table so we had to wait, then he went home straight afterwards. My hands went to the keyboard with a mafia-like lust for revenge that even surprised me.
> Go on then. Let’s have a go at this.
> Why did you decide to continue?
> I have my reasons.
Pause. A virtual awkward silence. I rapped out another message.
> Shall we begin?
> Let’s. It’s your move, actually. The dice show seven. Do you think the next roll will be higher than seven, or lower?
Surprisingly, the question generated a great deal more tension in the room than I would have anticipated. I stared at the dice, as though they would reveal something of their intentions to me. The nature of these forfeits played on my mind and I shook my head, as though in some way this were impairing my concentration. Two or three times I raised my hands to type, but stopped. There was a marked lack of prompting from my co-player. Reasoning that this was taking a stupidly long time to do, I went with the odds.
> Higher it is. Please, roll.
The dice felt heavy in my hand, laden with the feeling that some rubicon was being stepped over in doing so. The last encounter I could, in my mind at least, pin partly on being d***k and flattered by his attentions. That distinction was important to me. It didn’t absolve me of blame, far from it, but there were extenuating factors. This was different. At every point I had get-outs, a chance to leave the game. Before Ben had been a complete stranger, but now I knew better. That was the thought that kept spinning around in my head: I know who he is now. This is my partner’s son.
I shook the dice two or three times and let them loose. They bounced about the surface of my desk as though we were on the moon, seemingly in slow motion, and bouncing absurdly high. Of course, in reality they did none of these things; my senses sharpened by the stakes of the game only made it seem thus. One came to rest before the other, showing four dots in the corner and one in the centre, a pattern that I recognized but could attach no numeric value to. The other seemed to rest and then take off again, like litter in the wind. When it did stop, there were sufficient dots for company, but not the crowd of them I needed for victory.
The realisation came to me that the game was tied. I looked at the monitor, anticipating guidance, which was when I realised that I had already rendered control to Ben. The dice provided no further clue. Their work was done, so they simply sat there.
> What do we do?
> What do you mean, what do we do? Roll them again.
Obviously! I couldn’t explain my thought processes at that point, it was simpler to admit to not having them. I rolled the dice again, and this time rolled double five. There was none of the mystical significance that accompanied the first roll. Now we were simply playing a game.
> This means I get to ask you something!
> As per the rules. What do you want to know?
Of course, it was one of those questions that very little seems to hang upon, and therefore is impossibly difficult to make a decision about. At once I was filled with the desire to ask if he was going to tell his father about us, but the fact that the question had occurred held enormous ramifications for me. Firstly, it implied that I had done something shameful (which, possibly, I had, except of course there were two of us in the toilet that afternoon), but, much worse, it said quite clearly that I considered there was an ‘about us’ of which to speak. I did not wish to consider this issue any further. Instead I plumped for what I think was a rather sanitised question, and one that with hindsight looks as though it were rather more to do with consoling the mythical fragile female ego. Truth is, I just didn’t know what else to ask.
> Did you enjoy the other afternoon?
The message took thirty or forty seconds to come back, during which I imagined thirty or forty different responses, none of which portrayed me in a flattering light.
> You do that a lot.
> Beat around the bush, for want of a better phrase. ‘Did you enjoy the other afternoon?’ We both know what you mean, why do you not write it? Was the sex good? Did you enjoy fucking me? Even ‘was it good for you?’ is better! But yes, I did enjoy it. I like to fuck at lunchtime, it means I can go the whole afternoon without becoming pre-occupied! But you played your part and were a very good fuck, so you should give yourself a little treat on my behalf.
> You can’t go a full day without sex?
> I prefer not to, that’s a better way of putting it. But it doesn’t have to be full sex. Masturbation is fine.
As someone that can complete months without masturbating, or sparing it much thought, I found it difficult to empathise.
> Anyway, you have my answer, so I think it’s time to roll again.
The third time round, with the tension broken somewhat, the dice seemed to fall much quicker. Double three.
> Also, as a prelude to rolling, you were supposed to decide whether the outcome would be higher or lower.
That was a good point. After going with ‘lower’ and fancying the odds, I rolled for the fourth time. A couple of seconds later, a pair of sixes mocked me.
> I think that finally the advantage is mine!
> Okay. What do you want to know?
> It’s a nice simple one, actually. I’d like to know what colour panties you have on today.
That was it? That wasn’t so hard, but by the time I was halfway through typing ‘white’ I felt a certain nervous suspicion starting to grow. I finished typing and hit enter, waiting for I did not know what.
> I didn’t want you to tell me…
Grinning, I knew now that I was starting to understand his game. I thought he was trying to bring my prudery to the fore, so, toying with him, I tapped out my response.
> Whatever do you mean!
> You know quite well, I think, what I mean.
I was quite certain that I did, and determined not to appear prudish before him. Rocking the webcam back just a fraction, I pushed my chair backwards a pace. Without looking up at the camera, I raised my bum off the chair and slowly, slowly, inched my skirt upwards. I had no stockings or tights on today, and at the point I judged he would just not quite be able to see the white V of my panties, I stopped. The bell sounded immediately and, glancing up, I saw an exhortation to continue pop up. Now, this was my game! Rather than continue to pull my whole skirt up, I merely pulled up that section between my legs, slowly again, until my nails were grazing bare flesh over the waistline of my knickers. I could feel a definite raising of the temperature between my legs and prayed that, if there were a damp patch coming, it would not show on the camera. Saucily, I even spread my legs and flashed my gusset for him before quickly slamming them shut. I left my skirt were it was, my underwear still on view for him.
> Thank you! That was definitely worth the wait. I like them, very pretty. Shall we play again?
With twelve on the board I couldn’t really go wrong, although the five that came up as a result was one that could go either way next turn.
> Your turn again. What is it this time?
I wanted to ask something much more, well, useful, for want of a better way to put it, but my natural inhibition against using crude language prevented me from typing out any of the possibilities that occurred to me. It was somehow as though I didn’t want to sully cyberspace with crude language and indecent images. The problem was, with my interest piqued, I had lots of tings I wanted to ask.
> Let’s just say that, for the purposes of this game only, I were to let you do anything to me that you wanted. Absolutely anything at all with a guarantee that I would not say no. What would that thing be?
> Caitlin, that’s an excellent question. Do you mind if I have a moment to consider it?
> Not at all.
Feeling rather pleased that I had stumped him, even momentarily, I leant back in my seat, pushing so far back that the seat itself reclined. Forgetting, of course, that I was simply raising my crotch closer to the camera. Hastily I realised what I was doing, but slightly less hastily did I lean forwards again. The power that came with knowing that I was making him think about me was intoxicating. His reply flashed up moments later.
> I know you’ve labelled it a stereotype once already, but I think that I would want you to be with another woman. In your usual submissive role, of course, so that you received most, but not all, of the pleasure, but also so that an expert could lead you along that particular path. Maybe someone who was gifted in this respect might break down some of your inhibitions.
This answer came as something of a surprise. Given license to do anything to me, hypothetically albeit, he had chosen to watch me with someone else. Maybe that was how he got off, I mean certainly the younger lads around the place would talk and joke about lesbians, particularly when they thought I was out of earshot. Perhaps I had underestimated the power that that particular fantasy held over the male imagination. Maybe then I should indulge him? Was that a dangerous route to go down? To make him watch, of course, unable to touch – maybe even tied up out of harms’ way, now wouldn’t that be an irony – and watch with fascination the look on his face as I pandered to his fantasy. His absolute, cast iron, confirmed number one fantasy. I raised my hands to type but fate interrupted me, because his next message came up first.
> I’ll leave that one with you, because you’ve already told me what you thought of that and seemingly have little to add. Let’s play again. What will you go with?
I went higher than five, and watched with misplaced confidence as a pair of twos finished sunny side up. He’d already thought of his next question because it came up almost immediately.
> I find myself wondering if you’re wearing a matching set.
And that was all there was. With no need for fake pretence, I slowly tugged at the bottom of my blouse where it was tucked into my skirt. Starting at the bottom and taking far too long about it, I undid each button in turn until my blouse hung loose. I left it there, revealing only the delicate bow and band of material between the two cups. There was no message to gee up my show, because now we understood each other, and he knew that there was more coming. Because he knew this, he was played into my hands. I gently took hold of the front of my blouse and rather than pulling it open, quickly and without fuss I slid it straight off my shoulders and down my arms. Seconds later, the blouse was lying on the floor besides my chair.
> That was more than I expected! Gorgeous underwear, by the way. Really nice. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?
> Maybe! You think you have me pigeonholed, so I wanted to show that you didn’t know me as well as you hoped. Higher!
Taking up the dice, and, feeling that I was well in control of the game, kissed them for luck and rolled. Three.Typical.
> And what would you have me do this time?
> Well at the minute I’m just enjoying the view; I think you should lose the skirt. Take your time about it though!
Laughing, I stood up and made a big show of fussily smoothing down my skirt. I leant forward into the camera, giving a good cleavage show, and adjusted its position. Turning my back on the camera, I leant over again, just enough to accentuate the shape of my rump. Ever so slowly, I sneaked down the zipper, so slowly in fact that each individual click of the zipper could be heard. Whilst trying not to laugh I glanced coquettishly over my shoulder at the camera, making an ‘O’ with my red lips and raising a hand to my mouth as I did so. I hoped Ben was enjoying the show, because I was really starting to enjoy putting it on for him!
When the zip was completely unfastened, I turned to face the camera again. I couldn’t resist a smile as I blew him a kiss. With a flick of my fingers the clasp was undone, and a wiggle of my hips saw the skirt fall down unaided. I stood there to be admired in a dainty and feminine white set, all lacy and cute. When I thought I’d let him stare long enough I sat down, crossing my arms and accentuating my cleavage. Not on purpose, you understand…
After typing ‘higher’ into the messenger, I rolled the dice again only to be left staring at a pair of snake eyes. I could hear Ben laughing from here.
> I think Lady Luck could have helped me out a little more there, you know, all girls together…
> Maybe she was at work here, you never know. Maybe she just wanted you to get naked!
> I can’t get naked, it’s bad enough that I’m down to my bra and knickers! There are still people in the theatre, you know.
> Okay, okay, no more shedding clothes. That means you owe me something special.
And that was it, there didn’t seem to be any more guidance forthcoming. ‘Something special’ had been left open to my creative interpretation, it seemed. Glancing round the office for inspiration, in my aroused but nervous state there was nothing that sprang out at me. Ben was obviously watching, because the bell sounded seconds later.
> Lend me your hand…
> What do you mean?
> Let me take control of your hand. I’ll tell you what to do, you do it as though it were my hand.
> I’m not sure about that.
> You don’t have an option, it’s your forfeit!
I wasn’t sure what he meant, although I was not so devoid of imagination that I couldn’t think of a few things. Shrugging my complicity to the camera, I waited for my instructions.
> Make yourself comfortable.
I looked quizzically at the camera, still not understanding this part of the game.
> Sorry. Lean back in your chair, make yourself comfortable. You won’t need the keyboard, you can just signal to the camera. Okay? (I nodded) In fact you could move your chair back a little and put your feet up on the desk.
Following his bidding, I adjusted myself in my chair so that I could rest my heels on the desk. I left my shoes on, for the sake of the spectacle, before I realised that this meant the gusset of my knickers was pointing almost directly at the camera. This was clearly his intention, and seeing that I had signed up for the game, I played along.
> Nice shoes. Are you comfortable there?
I indicated my assent, still wiggling my bum in this unfamiliar posture to flatten the cushion beneath me.
> If I were to ask you, on a scale of one to ten, how horny you were at the moment, what would you say?
Smiling, I held up both hands to the camera, palms exposed.
> Excellent! I would have to say that I feel the same way. What would you say to us doing something about that, maybe relive ourselves of this tension a little?
Well, he did say that he needed to get off at lunch in order to stay focussed for the whole afternoon. Certainly I wouldn’t do much in this state (of undress!), so what Ben said sort of made sense. Sort of.
> Your left hand, I would like you to place it inside the right cup of your bra. Massage your breast for me until your nipples become hard.
Holding my breath, I did as bid. My hand, moving as though it really were controlled by someone else, described ever-decreasing circles on my right breast until I was concentrating solely on the nipple. I let my eyes close and my head rest on the back of the chair, until my breathing was in sync with the motions of my fingers. Both nipples were hard now, and, raising my other hand, I started to tease both nipples, still hiding them from the camera’s view.
> Excellent! I like that you feel you can improvise. Please, remove your bra for me so that I can see you better.
I did as asked, but made him wait. The straps came down very slowly, one at a time, until with nothing left to support them the cups just fell away. I swear I could feel the intensity of his stare. Leaning forwards so they were close to the camera, I unhooked my bra and slowly removed it. Smiling nonchalantly I let it dangle from my outstretched index finger until it joined the rest of my apparel on the floor, and then I settled back into the chair. I couldn’t resist playing with my nipples again.
> Caitlin, that’s really sexy. You have a fantastic body, you know.
Flattery – and dirty suggestions – would get him pretty much anywhere.
> And now I would like to see the rest of you. Have you ever been naked at work before?
I hadn’t, I mean how many people have? Shaking my head, I waited for the next instruction. I could have sworn I’d just told him that I didn’t want to take my clothes off, and yet here I am.
> Stand up then, and remove your panties. Leave your heels on.
I did as asked. It was almost a relief to take them off anyway, because they were close to being saturated. Without finesse I pulled them down and stepped out of them, tossing them towards the camera and laughing. I settled back into my chair, even more conscious of the feeling of my skin on the chair.
> Now place your heels on the desk. Tilt the camera down a fraction. I want to look right into your cunt.
Reading the C-word made me wince involuntarily, but I did as requested. Taking care not to scuff the surface of the desk – heel marks would be very difficult to explain away after all – I managed to get my legs onto the desk so that Ben could see everything whilst I managed to remain comfortable. At this point, if I heard any noise in the corridor or on the steps leading up to my office, well, I’d have enough trouble getting my legs off the desk without falling over. At least prior to this I could have made it to the large cupboard in the corner of the room and hidden behind it, if not inside it. My clothes would have been hidden from anyone walking past or popping their head in the door and I would have been hidden unless someone came into the room. Right now though, I suspected that if I panicked, I’d simply send the whole chair flying backwards onto the floor with me entangled in it.
It wasn’t as though I didn’t know what Ben wanted at this point, and whatever he suggested I was in too much of a state to think about anything that didn’t quickly lead to me getting off. Already my right hand was between my legs, stroking the lips of my pussy in a lazy, unattached manner as I waited to see if there were any instructions forthcoming. I wanted to type, to tell him that imagined him with his cock in his hand, as aroused as I was, but I simply could not reach the keyboard to do so. The image stayed in my mind, and closing my eyes helped not at all. To think of his hand grasping that thick, shiny shaft, just as he had before he came on me – I shuddered and breathed deeply, trying and failing to compose myself.
Whether the pressure was inadvertent, subconscious or whatever, I found that the tip of my index finger had parted my labia and I was now rubbing softly against the exposed, moist redness underneath. I flinched, smiling, as I allowed my finger to make contact with my clit momentarily. It felt good and I wanted to do it again, and again, and keep doing it until I came there and then with Ben’s eyes all over me. Instead I waited, because I knew that he would want me to do it his way. He left me alone for what felt like several minutes as I tried not to take myself too far. When the bell noise came again, it made me start even though I’d been waiting for it.
> Behind you, on the third shelf down – what is that? Some kind of aerosol?
Swivelling in my seat, I looked around. It was a can of deodorant, the small thin type. I’d had it in my bag but left it out as a reminder to buy a new one as this was empty. I’d bought the new one but failed to throw this one away. I knew what he was going to ask, so I reached over and grabbed it, almost toppling over as I did. Rolling it between my fingers, I smiled at the camera.
> Use your imagination…
Well, this would be a first for me, but then so would a lot of things this week. The metal was cold, but my pussy was so hot I didn’t honestly think I would feel it anyway. Using the bottom of the can, I stroked up and down my pussy lips just as my fingers had done for him moments ago. It was as cold as I’d imagined it would be, and the sensations it provoked were delicious. Slowly, teasingly, I allowed it to part my lips and take slide in a tentative few millimetres.
As I fumbled to manoeuvre the can into a better position, the cap clicked off and tumbled to the floor, but at least now I was comfortable. Holding my breath I tilted the can until was at the correct angle to be inserted straight into me. I was hesitant about taking the next step, and I looked into the camera for a moment, willing some sign of encouragement to appear. Instead, I found the impetus from within, and slowly inserted three or four inches of cold metal inside me.
I caught my breath as the cold shaft collided with my hot vaginal walls. Throwing my head back and closing my eyes, I squeezed the tin tightly with my vaginal muscles until I was more accustomed to it. I started to work it in and out, wanting to start off slowly but finding myself overtaken by the desire to come. I thought I heard the bell noise go but it may have been my imagination – I didn’t really care at that point. Until this point I’d been using my left hand to hold open my pussy lips, but now that the can was in there was no need, so I transferred their attentions to my distended clitoris, using two fingers to provide additional friction.
That was definitely the bell, but I was having too much fun to stop now, Matching the rhythm of the can to the fingers on my clit was provoking delirium in every nerve ending from here to Timbuktu, and my breathing was so rapid-fire I thought I would hyperventilate. I f***ed myself to open my eyes and look at the screen after the message alert tone went twice more. It was the same message every time.
> SLOW DOWN!
I didn’t want to, I was almost frantic about achieving orgasm. I could see from the messenger that Ben was typing another message, and I f***ed myself to slow down long enough to read it.
> In a moment I’m going to call you. I want you to answer the phone, put it on hands-free, and carry on as you are. We won’t speak. I just want to hear you come, as well as watch. I’m playing with myself right now.
I nodded my assent – frankly, I would have agreed to anything at this point. Surely enough the phone rang, and for a moment I ignored it, smiling at the camera, until I reached over and clicked the speakerphone button. I turned up the volume slider, which also served to enhance the microphone. If I was to put on a show, I didn’t want my audience of one to miss it! I returned to the task and hand with renewed enthusiasm – the groans were not fake, it was just that now I was not holding back. They could easily be heard from the corridor, so now I was relying on dumb luck that no-one came into the room and caught me naked with a can of deodorant halfway up me.
Then an idea occurred to me. Loath as I was to do so, I withdrew my new toy from my sopping wet hole. I stood up, turned my back on the camera and clambered onto the chair so that I was kneeling on it, arms leaning on the back, bum high in the air. In other words, so that when I leant forward, Ben would get the most perfect view of me frigging myself.
Experimenting with the awkward angle, I found it easier to re-insert my make-do dildo by holding the can between my legs, rather than coming round the rear as it were. Even though it had only been absent from my hole for literally seconds I found my pussy craving for it, and could not get it back in fast enough. There was no way I could work my clit from here, because I needed my other arm to lean on, so I made up for it by pushing the can harder and deeper, faster too, until I could take no more. I left the can stuck where it was, halfway out of my snatch, and went for broke on my clit. My moans now synched with the movements of my hand, the deft thrusts of my fingers across my clit.
When my orgasm broke, I was practically screaming. I squeezed the can with my muscles as I pressed hard on my clit, unable to withstand the friction any longer. My breathing was all over the place and my head lolled forward, hair hanging over my face, as I closed my eyes and waited for the blackness to subside.
When the stars had stopped spinning in my eyes, I climbed out of the chair. Leaning into the camera, I blew Ben a kiss and said that I hoped he’d enjoyed the show. Serenely, I extended an arm and clicked off the speakerphone. The message alert went one last time, and when I looked there was an invitation to join him at a bar nearby at nine o’clock the following night. I smiled, blew him a kiss and turned off the camera.