Chapter 3 - Willow
Mike is driving me insane. I spend my time at work wondering what he’s doing and who he’s fucking, but then when I get home, he’s attentive and toys with me—letting me come only half the time.
He’s enjoying the lingerie pictures I’m bombarding him with, but am I just fueling the fire for other women?
When I complained to Alice, she told me to stop being a wimp and ask him if he’s fucking other people, but she doesn’t understand.
I like him… a lot… And I’m afraid to scare him off.
He didn’t sign up to be my boyfriend. I want to be able to enjoy my time with him without becoming too attached.
..but it might be too late. Just thinking about him sleeping with another woman is eating me up with jealousy.
After two weeks of him being away, I’m ready to burst. If someone told me three months ago how much a dom guy could mentally fuck you up over text messages, I’m not sure I would’ve believed them.
This is seriously crazy and not at all how I imagined submitting to someone would play out.
He knows exactly what to say to get me worked up and desperate for his cock.
..the cock I can’t have because he’s on a stupid boat in the middle of the stupid ocean for another week!
It’s been another long day at work, but when I get off at the bus stop close to my apartment, a shot of adrenaline perks me up. I’m going to go in, put on a comfy pair of pajamas, slip into bed, and tell him I’m ready for him to fuck me.
He knows what time I get home from work, and right as I shove the key in my front door, my phone beeps with a message. I hurry inside and check it as soon as the door is closed.
Mike:
When you get home, I want you to dry hump the corner of your kitchen table or desk for five minutes. Text me when you start. And no coming without permission.
Wet heat pools between my legs, and I glance toward the kitchen nook, where the table is, while fighting down a groan. Why is this hot? I could mess with him and tell him I don’t have any suitable hard surfaces, but I want to do what he’s telling me to. I live for him calling me “Good girl.”
Before I met him, I thought guys in their late 40s didn’t have high sex drives anymore. I was wrong. Very, very, VERY wrong, unless Mike is different from most older guys. There’s certainly nothing wrong with his libido.
I drop my coat, scarf, and hat on my bed before kicking off my shoes and heading to the kitchen. While I strip out of my work pants and imagine rubbing my pussy against the table, desire stirs in my belly. Once I’m standing next to the table, I text him.
Willow:
Starting now.
Mike:
Good girl. I’ll tell you when to stop.
My brain buzzes at the praise, and I position myself at the corner.
I giggle when I have to get on my tippy toes to position it between my legs.
There’s just the thin fabric of my cotton panties between me and the wood, and with how wet I am, this table is going to need a thorough cleaning when I’m done with it.
I start to rub against it, testing the friction, which feels nicer than I expected.
As I rock my hips, I imagine I’m straddling him and riding his cock, feeling it moving in and out of me, hitting every pleasurable nerve ending.
Delight spirals in my core from the pressure against my clit.
Hell, I might actually orgasm like this.
Within a minute, I’m moaning as the pleasure increases. Fuuuck, it’s still a week until I get his cock again at the Christmas party. How am I going to survive until then?
It’s been at least three minutes of rocking against the table and every second brings me closer to an orgasm. My hands tremble as I message him.
Willow:
May I come? Please?
Mike:
No, keep going.
Shit. I grind on the corner. The patch of fabric covering my pussy is soaked and the scent of my sex is in the air.
I need to come so badly, and my entire body throbs with lust and need.
If he’d let me, I’d bend over the table, rip off my panties and thrust a finger inside myself, searching for that wonderful spot of bliss.
But he only said to rub against the table, so that’s all I’ll do.
As the neediness builds with each passing moment, it becomes impossible to think straight.
I’m a mindless fucktoy thrusting against something while waiting for further instructions.
I have no idea how long I’ve been humping this thing, but it feels like forever.
He needs to be here using me for real. I imagine him behind me, holding on to my hips and fucking me bareback.
I almost miss my phone beeping with a text message, and I stare down at the screen while my vision blurs.
Mike:
Stop now.
Oooohhh...I don’t think so. I ignore his message and keep rocking against the table, chasing my impending orgasm.
Mike:
When I say stop, I mean NOW.
Dammit! His message penetrates the fog and with a frustrated moan, I step back from the table.
Willow:
Stopped, Sir.
I take several shaky breaths while I rest my ass on the table and try to get my heart rate under control. The heat surging through my veins makes it difficult. I’m a quivering ball of horniness, and he did this to me. I glare down at the text thread and wait for his next command.
Mike:
Good girl. Now how do you feel?
I want him to tell me I can touch myself until I come.
Willow:
Frustrated. Desperate. Needy. Ready to be fucked.
Mike:
I want you to feel this way. Now, get into bed and if you beg like the slut we both know you are, I’ll let you come.
Willow:
Yes, Sir!
I race to get naked and climb into bed. As soon as I settle in, I text him.
Willow:
In bed, now please, please, please can I touch myself and come? I need to come so badly.
I caress a nipple while I wait for his reply.
Mike:
First, rub your clit for one minute. Starting now.
Willow:
Y
In only thirty seconds, I almost peak again, and I writhe on the bed, frantically seeking any bit of relief while my heart races and my pussy clenches on nothing. Fuuuck, if I don’t stop, I’m going to come.
Willow:
Sir, can I please, please come? Please? I can’t keep going or I’ll come without permission.
My mind reels as I wait for him.
Mike:
Your minute wasn’t up, slut. Now it starts over. Get to rubbing.
Willow:
Y
Fuuuuck. Within seconds of touching my clit, my hips are bucking against my hand. My body screams for release and wetness leaks down the crack of my ass.
I feel like such a depraved slut to be doing this with a guy over text, and the thought pushes me over the edge. I cry out as my body convulses from pleasure. Waves of delight overwhelm me as I imagine Mike fucking me through my orgasm.
When I come down, I realize he sent a couple of texts.
Mike:
Stop.
Mike:
You better be stopping, my little slut.
Oops, shit.
Willow:
Um, I accidentally came, Sir.
I bite my lip and giggle while I wait to see what he’s going to say. That might have been worth any punishment.
Mike:
Such a naughty slut. I hope you enjoyed it. Your punishment is not coming until my cock is inside you again.
My body lights up with an aftershock of pleasure. It wasn’t a full orgasm, so I’m sure it doesn’t count. I had no control over it, but I won’t mention it just in case he doesn’t agree.
Willow:
Yes, Sir. Sorry. I’ll be good.
I wrap my comforter around myself and yawn. Now that I’ve come, I’m euphoric and relaxed.
Mike:
I know you will. Now get some sleep and have sweet dreams. You’ve got a long week ahead of you of not coming.
I giggle, too content to care about my future pain.
I wish him sweet dreams and send him a kiss emoji before setting my phone down.
As my eyes drift closed, I remember my mom left me a message asking me to call her tonight to discuss Christmas dinner.
Since I haven’t replied to any of her messages or called her since Thanksgiving, I’m not sure why she thinks I’m coming over.
I’ll text her tomorrow and tell her I’ve got plans, even though the freeuse party is technically the weekend before Christmas.
I’m definitely not spending the day with my parents.