Chapter Six #2
Her immediate thought was fuck no, but she didn’t type it. Is that a condition of playing together?
I didn’t say that. I only asked what you thought about it.
She considered. My first thought is no. But maybe, if it’s not long-term.
I appreciate the honesty.
What about you? Do you ask because you like the idea of controlling my orgasms? she typed.
Yes, he responded.
What do you like about it?
She waited, watching the dots indicating that he was typing, then it all came through.
The control. I like if you could disobey but you don’t.
You obey because I ask you to obey. And I like the thought of you needy and desperate, squirming, soaking wet, and begging me to let you come. It makes me hard thinking about it.
Fuck, that was hot. She paused, rereading his text a few times and living in that thought before she replied. What would it mean, that control? What would happen?
I’ll play with you tonight, but I won’t guarantee that you’ll come. And if I tell you no tonight, I would want you to wait until tomorrow to ask again.
She stared at the screen. She was already dripping wet from this conversation. What would it feel like to have her control taken away? All right. I can do that.
You sound like a good girl, Rose.
She laughed to herself, because very few people would accuse her of that. Not according to my ex-boyfriends.
Maybe you need someone better to keep you in line.
It was such a man-on-the-internet thing to say, and she rolled her eyes. I keep myself in line, thank you very much.
His reply came quickly. But tonight, you’re asking me to do that for you.
She swallowed, her smugness fading. That’s what she’d asked for. No pictures, she wrote quickly. No identifying info.
That’s fine.
And we stop if either of us wants to stop.
Of course, he added. It can just be fun. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world.
She took a deep breath and let it out. He was right. She didn’t have to worry.
His next line followed immediately. Are you in your bedroom?
Yes.
Alone?
If I weren’t alone in my bedroom, I wouldn’t be on this chat with you.
Good point. Take off your clothes.
They were getting to it now. She stripped down and tossed her clothes onto a chair near the bed. Done.
Now lie back on your bed and open your legs.
The cooler night air brushed against her like a touch. No one could see her from the bed but she imagined someone watching her anyway.
OK.
Do you like someone touching your nipples? Does that feel good?
She’d never thought of it as a particular hot spot, although it was pleasant enough. It’s OK. I’m not opposed.
All right. Spend the next minute playing with your nipples, and I’m going to take off my clothes and stroke myself.
Maggie was blushing again. She ran her fingers lightly around her nipples, which peaked at her touch.
A minute was a long time. She brushed the tips, then squeezed gently, then harder.
Pleasure jolted down her spine. She pinched more intensely and let the feeling wash through her.
This position exposed her to whatever or whoever wanted to see her, and that exposure turned up any sensations to a higher decibel.
Her phone vibrated next to her arm and she read his messages, her nipples pulsing with her heartbeat. How do you feel?
Turned on, she admitted. Being limited to only that action made it a lot hotter.
Gentle or rough? he asked.
Rough. So weird to type this. I liked it when it hurt. And it’s weird sitting here with my legs open.
Imagine being tied like that and blindfolded. Your door open, people filtering through, touching you however they wanted, as long as they wanted.
He was filthy, and she loved it. Fucking hot, she wrote, and her heartbeat pulsed between her legs.
Do you want to touch your clit?
She did, but admitting it in a text gave her a tiny prickle of embarrassment that maybe was a turn-on in itself. Yes.
Ask me.
She stared at the screen before typing. May I touch my clit?
Say please.
That made her roll her eyes. Fine. Please, may I touch my clit?
Seems like you’ve got a bit of an attitude. So, no. Keep playing with your nipples and ask me again in another minute.
She hadn’t really thought he’d say no, and those words made her muscles clench around nothing.
She swallowed, mouth going dry. Her nipples were more sensitive than usual, and each squeeze and pinch sent a direct current through her.
If she hadn’t been told to keep her legs open, she could squeeze them together, get some friction and stimulation that way.
If only something was touching her. If only he was touching her.
Please, may I touch my clit? she typed again. What was she supposed to call him? Mr. Pimpernel? Scarlet? Maybe … sir? She didn’t want to ask right now, but the latter option made her feel twitchy.
Good girl, he sent, and she shouldn’t like being talked to like a child or a pet, but somehow the words didn’t feel demeaning. Describe how you would touch yourself if you were allowed.
I like to rub with my middle and index finger together. I start back and forth, then I switch to circles. She could practically feel it.
I like picturing that. I bet you’re wet right now.
Maggie’s face probably couldn’t get redder. Yes.
Rub your clit for me ten times, one per second. Not faster.
The first touch sizzled through her like electricity, and she sucked in a breath. She counted in her head one Mississippi, two Mississippi with each stroke, like she was counting between the lightning and thunder. It felt like lightning and thunder inside her. Ten strokes were not nearly enough.
Please, may I keep going?
Not yet. Did it feel good?
Yes, but it wasn’t enough.
Of course it wasn’t enough. Did you think you were going to get off in ten strokes? Then he sent another message. That would be a fun game sometime. See how long you have to edge before you can get off in ten of those one-second strokes.
Now her clit was pulsing even as the sensation in her nipples eased.
What if you edged all day? he continued. Do you think you could come in ten seconds then?
Fuck. She took a moment to steady her breathing, thumbs trembling over the screen. I don’t know. I’ve never tried anything like that before.
I know. I like you to imagine. The same way I’m imagining how you look right now, spread out on your bed, dripping wet for me.
Maggie squeezed her eyes shut and took a shuddering breath before typing back. You’re killing me. Sure you’ve never done this before?
First time on text, he wrote. Glad it’s working for you.
It really is, she admitted.
She could picture him smiling at his phone, whatever he looked like, hopefully turned on the way she was. It’s working for me, too, he added.
Are you touching yourself? she asked.
Not yet, he responded. I don’t want to get distracted. Besides, I like to wait, too.
She liked imagining him hard and waiting, holding off for her.