This is out of your realm of experience and at times may be slightly overwhelming, but you must put your trust in my hands and know I will take you at a speed that is healthy and safe.
Should you be scared? No. Apprehensive? Yes.
If you are feeling that way then the training is sinking in, and you’ve come to the realization that in fact you can be cyber-trained.
Remember this is all about you, and your willingness and desire to be trained.
You’re a good girl. Stay wet for me. And be sure to tell me your safe word in advance.
MC
I thanked him for his comments, letting him know that I trusted him to go at a speed that was safe for me. I also gave him my safe word, which was to be “bluebird.” I wasn’t sure why I picked that, but I liked it.
MC explained this elaborate setup to me involving a chair, a broom, duct tape, and a dildo. He wanted me to stick the head of the broom between the mattress and the box spring of my bed so that the handle stuck out into the room. Then he instructed me to thread the broom handle between the vertical rungs of the chair from my kitchen, and finally duct tape the dildo securely to the end of the broom handle.
I was to lay a pillow on the chair for comfort, and I was to be naked except for wearing an elastic circle around my waist, made by knotting eight of my rubber bands together. He also requested I have on hand the clothespins tied with twine to a pair of wristbands, a spatula, and a butt plug.
Sophie,
Once you have a taste of this upcoming task, I’m sure you will learn what it’s like to be a “greedy girl.”
There are so many sessions, toys, and lessons ahead to turn you into a whimpering, compliant li’l slut.
Saturday will be your coming-out party, and I’m sure you will behave as I demand and expect.
Make sure you are keeping that fuckhole ripe and tasting the essence from your very core.
MC
A coming-out party? I had a coming-out party years ago… my mind drifted back to the white dresses, the curtsies, debonair men in tails, and waiters whisking past with trays of champagne.
The party he was planning promised to be quite different than the debutante balls I’d attended.
On the day of our first phone session I received this message:
Are you going to be ready to play tonight?
Have you been a good girl and tried your fuck-chair arrangements?
Do you have all your toys built?
Are you ready to be my fucktoy?
Are you ready to be taken and abused on Skype?
Are you ready to come hard like a helpless bitch?
MC
Nervous but excited, I sent him back a message answering in the affirmative to his questions. Then I got everything ready—my chair with the elaborate setup that would allow me to ride a cock, my headset and microphone for hands-free play, my array of toys all close by on the bed, and a fully charged laptop. Now if I could just survive the wait… My stomach churned with a mixture of nerves and excitement all day.
My skin felt clammy, so I cranked up the air conditioner. I wasn’t just nervous about the pain that I was afraid might be inflicted upon me (or that I might inflict upon myself at the command of the man on the other end of the line). It was also the fact that I would actually be talking to him.
Up until now, I had been following along with his instructions via email. Because of the medium, his communications should have had all the personality of a paper how-to instruction manual. Yes, somehow his persona came through anyway. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that a guy who’d had fifteen subs in the past wasn’t recycling a majority of his material. I mean, he acts as a teacher of sorts, and I was familiar with that. I knew when you utilize a certain curriculum the best you can do is try to tailor it to the individual student.
But tonight, our interaction would be give and take—a conversation. And even if he used “old tricks,” he probably wouldn’t be reading from a script, though he did seem organized and so serious about training that I wouldn’t put it past him to refer to a set of notes.
Tonight I would hear his voice for the first time. He would become a real person to me. Like Pinocchio becoming a real boy, he would transform from a cold, wooden voice on the other end of a cyber-connection into a flesh-and-blood man, at least as far as my ears were concerned. The prospect both thrilled me and made me want to vomit.
The whale-call sound of Skype broke me of my reverie. I took a gulp of air and clicked the cursor to “answer” with my already-sweaty finger.
“Hello?” I squeaked.
“Sophie?” he asked. His voice was low and gravelly, not unlike what I’d expected.
“Yes?” I took another deep breath and straightened, trying to harness a confidence I didn’t actually possess.
“Are you prepared for our session? Did you do everything I asked?” He sounded angry, as though he expected me to answer “no” and was ready to punish me for it.”
“Yes,” I managed.
“Yes, sir,” he snarled, and I could have kicked myself for forgetting, but he’d gotten me frazzled.
“Yes, sir.”
“Grab your spatula and smack that ass with it.”
I picked up the black rubber spatula with the open slits running down the middle and whacked my backside with it. “Yes, sir.”
“Count.”
“How high?”
“Just count each time you smack that ass. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“Do I start with ‘one’ or ‘two’ since I already did one?” His clipped tone had me so flustered I wasn’t sure what to do.
“Begin again. Start with one and make it loud enough for me to hear.”
“One.” I struck my rear end with the spatula.
“Louder!”
“Two.” I did this one harder. “Is that better?”
“Is that better, sir,” he corrected. “Harder!”
I whimpered. “Sorry, sir. Three.” I hit myself with significantly more force this time, and it really hurt. Involuntarily, I drew in a quick breath, giving him an audible cue to my reaction to the pain.
“That’s a good girl.” The words dripped from his lips like the sweetest honey, and my cunt creamed. I closed my eyes and shivered. That was what I wanted, what I craved—his approval. Him telling me I was a good girl. It spoke to something deep inside me, and I knew then that I would do anything this man asked.
“Keep going.”
I jarred myself from my lusty daze and kept spanking myself, each time verbalizing a number, in the back of my mind praying I wouldn’t lose count.
When I got to ten, he said, “Good girl. Now straddle that cock and ride it.”
I was wet enough that I parted my legs, sat down with my lips hovering over it, and the dildo slid inside me relatively easily. My ass landed on the pillow and I was filled with a cock. I closed my eyes and almost forgot that it was made of rubber.
“Grab the two forks. One in each hand.”
“Yes, sir.” I bent at the waist and picked them up. The stainless steel felt cool in my already sweaty palms.
“Start with the sides of your thighs and rake the tines of the forks over your skin. One against each leg. Make your strokes slow and deliberate.”
I did as he asked, tracing the pointed edges of the forks against the outsides of my thighs, letting a light “mmm” escape my lips.
“Good. Now open those fucking legs and rake them across your inner thighs. From your knees up. Almost to your cunt, but don’t touch it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep fucking that cock. Raise and lower yourself onto it. Do you hear me?” His voice held a menacing tone that sent a fresh batch of shivers dancing up my spine.