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She nodded her head. The second commercial finished playing. There was less than a minute of time left before we would be back on air. “That’s right. That’s the way it has to be.”
“Can I touch you – without it being sexual?”
“Why would you want to do that?” she asked.
“For the program,” I said sincerely. “That’s all.”
She thought for a few seconds, studying me carefully – perhaps trying to decide how far she could trust me. “I guess that would be okay,” she said.
I nodded. “And can you rig a microphone that can be hand held?”
“Of course – but we don’t use them normally. It doesn’t give the purest sound on air.”
“Try for me,” I urged her. “Quick as you can.”
April bent back over the desk and reached for a drawer. I watched the fine lines of her leg, the flex of her calf and the toned flesh of her thigh as the muscles came under strain. Her bottom was clenched tight into a provocative cleft through the gossamer satin of her panties.
She found a hand-held microphone and plugged it into a jack on the console. She passed it to me. It was a standard mic, but with a much larger foam-padded head, and there was a small cover that hung over the end of the microphone.
“Hold the edge of the guard against your lip,” she explained quickly. “It stops your mouth from getting too close to the mic and distorting the sound.”
I nodded and glanced at the monitors. I didn’t really know what I was looking at. April followed my gaze. “Twenty seconds,” she said. “The last commercial has begun.”
I nodded. “You better get into position.”
The sound of husky jazz music was a smooth transition as we came out of the commercial. I picked up the microphone, unaccustomed to the small amount of freedom it afforded. The cord was long enough that I could easily move to any point of the studio.
“Welcome back to the sub-club segment,” I said calmly. “You should be in position on your knees with your hands clasped behind your back. If you’re not – do it now.”
Manipulating the words I used, the rhythm of those words, and my tone of voice was a skill that every experienced BDSM Master developed with time and practice. In a normal training session a Master gives a lot of emphasis to his body language, and his facial expressions. I had none of those resources to draw on, so the careful play of my voice and the words I used was critical. I wanted listeners to know that I was in an abrupt and business-like mood. I wanted them to know that I expected to be obeyed.
In many ways training a submissive is about knowing when to be demanding and when to show encouragement. Most people respond to praise, and revel in approval. It was important for the authenticity of the radio session that listeners feel that same instinctive desire to please.
April knelt down, shifted her weight until she was comfortable, and put her hands behind her back. I walked with the microphone until I was standing behind her.
“Imagine me right behind where you are kneeling,” I spoke more softly. “Imagine that I am looking at you right now – you can feel my hungry eyes as they caress your body. I’m running my gaze slowly down your back to your waist and hips.” I paused for a heartbeat. “Then imagine the feel of my eyes roaming over your panty-clad bottom. Visualize me stepping closer – so close that I can smell the musky scent of your arousal.”
I took a pace nearer to April and saw her shiver. She sensed me instinctively.
“Think about your tight sweet pussy,” I whispered. “Focus your thoughts onto that one aching part of your body. Clear your mind of everything else apart from the sound of my voice and the tingle you can feel as the tension and arousal begins to burn like a fire. Imagine my tongue, slowly sliding down across your abdomen as you suck in your breath and pray that I will give you relief. Visualize the soft trail of my kisses as they slide down between your spread thighs…” By now my voice had become an almost hypnotic rhythm, carefully modulated into a soft pulsing beat. Every word flowed, nothing jarred – the words came without thought because they were instinctive to me.
“Now imagine the heat of your desire – how desperate you are. Your hips would rock, and there would be a soft desperate groan in the back of your throat. Groan for me now, so that I know you want your Master to let you come…”
April gasped. It was a single choked breath like a shuddering sob that was filled with raw emotion and passion. I saw her fold at the hips as though she was buckling under a fierce clench of her body.
“Bend over,” My voice became a stern command. “I want you on your hands and knees, or if there is a table nearby, I want you to go to the table and bend yourself over it. Spread your legs wide…”
I waited to see which option April would take. She hesitated for a moment. Her body was waving like a branch in a breeze. Finally, dreamily, she got to her feet and went to the studio desk. Not once did she glance at me. She folded forward so that her breasts were pressed to the table top, her face turned to the side, away from me. Her legs were spread apart so that the gap of her pussy was a soft damp mound.
I let a few more seconds of jazz filter through the air while I walked with the microphone towards the desk. April’s hair was splayed out across her shoulders, her body heaving with deep breaths.
“Now that you are comfortable and in position I want you to think about me touching you,” I said slowly. “Focus on how it would feel if my fingertips lightly grazed along the inside of your thigh. Would your skin catch fire? Would you feel yourself buckle at the knees? Would every nerve and fiber in your body suddenly be strung taut?”
I reached between April’s parted legs and brushed the soft sensitive skin high up on her inner leg, just an inch or two below the smoldering heat of her pussy. She sucked in a sharp hiss of breath and her hands bunched into tight fists. I felt a ripple of excitement run down through her body. She was whimpering.
“Now imagine my hand gliding higher – towards that place where you want me to touch you – towards your wet and wanting pussy. Fantasize about the caress of each finger as it presses and then slowly… very slowly… slides inside you.”
An important single beat of tense pause…
“Now touch yourself!” I insisted.
Everything I had said in the past twenty-five minutes had been carefully orchestrated to build simmering tension for this instant.
“Reach down and slide your fingers inside your pussy – do it to please your Master and think about the wicked thrill of having me watch you.”
Without hesitation, April reached down between her parted thighs. I saw her hand slip inside her panties and then the frantic movement of her fingers as she worked to bring herself off.
“Yes!” I hissed like a man delighting in the eroticism of the display. “Rub your hard little clit and then finger yourself. Your Master wants you to come tonight. I want to watch as you explode.”
April made soft grunting sounds in the back of her throat and her hips began to rock as she pleasured herself. I said nothing. I unplugged the mic from the console and went back to my chair. April was hunched over the desk, her body becoming rigid as each muscle tightened like a bow being drawn.
She cried out once – a sound that she had no power to control – and then her entire body seemed to flex and clench as her orgasm overwhelmed her in a series of waves.
I waited in silence while the soft strains of jazz played in the background. April lay slumped over the desk, soft as melted candle wax. Every breath was a ragged sob. She turned her head towards me and blinked as if waking from the grips of a spell. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a satin-like sheen of perspiration on her brow. She stood slowly. Her hand was still inside her panties but her fingers were still now.
I leaned in close to the microphone. “That was shattering,” I said. “Knowing that you came pleases your Master immensely,” I broadcast. “You have been good girls for me. Now, all that remains is for you to taste yourself…”
I let those words hang on the air for a moment.
“Put your fingers into your mouth, lick the taste of you, and inhale the scent of your pussy.”
I stole a glance beyond the articulated array of the boom mic. April had her hip against the desk as if she needed the support to remain upright. Her panties were awry, and one of her nipples was peeking above the lace cup of her bra. She didn’t seem to notice. I saw her turn her body away, and then her hand came up to her mouth and she flicked her tongue over her fingers.
The sub-club session was over.
Chapter 17.
By the end of Friday night’s program I was exhausted. My first week on the radio had been more strenuous, more mentally taxing than I could have ever anticipated. I was accustomed to a hard day’s work – physical labor that required skill and concentration. Radio was a whole new world entirely.
