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“Meaning?” Monique’s tone lost some of its razor edge and became curious.
“Meaning that bending a woman over your lap, and slowly lifting her skirt to expose her panty-clad bottom for a spanking is something that is a seduction. It clearly defines her submission and obedience. There’s no need to take that to a level of violence. The power is in the act of her submission – it doesn’t depend on the extent of the punishment. A disobedient submissive will find being spanked humiliating. It makes her vulnerable. That’s a spanking’s purpose. Beating a woman is the other extreme – it is, in itself, the purpose. The Master inflicts pain as punishment. That’s not my personal style.”
There was a ragged breath of silence. I could sense the caller playing back my words in her mind. “Some Masters beat their submissives.”
“Yes,” I said, “sadly they do. It’s not the kind of control I like to exert because it’s crude and brutal. If a Master needs to dominate his submissive through fear of pain and injury, he’s not very good at his role, in my opinion.”
“Some women enjoy it.”
I nodded as I answered. “Yes,” I agreed. “For a small minority of submissive women, that pain is part of their pleasure. I have no problem with that. They’re just not the women I would feel comfortable ever training.”
“What would you say to Masters who beat unwilling submissives to train them and dominate them?”
“Firstly, I would advise the submissive to leave the relationship. If they are unhappy, and if there is unwelcome violence, then they have every right as a woman to walk away and never look back.”
“And to those men?”
I shrugged as I leaned a little closer to the microphone. “Those men who use unwanted pain to control a submissive woman walk a very fine line,” I said heavily. “If brutality is part of the way they conduct themselves, they need to keep a tight reign on their temper. It doesn’t take much to cross a very clear line. Submission is not slavery.”
Monique seemed mollified enough to have run out of questions. April sensed the thawing of the woman’s attitude and intercepted the call smoothly.
“Thanks for calling WGHX-95.8 talk-back radio,” she said cheerfully. I could hear the muted strains of music in the background, beginning to rise. April kept talking. “Now we want to hear about your fantasies,” her voice dropped an octave and became a husky overlay to the opening bars of the song. “Call us. The lines are open…” Just as she finished speaking the music came up and I heard the start of an old INXS favorite.
April leaned back in her chair and stared across the intimate gloom of the desk. “Do you really believe the stuff you tell these women?” she asked after a few moments.
I nodded. “Every word,” I said. “Not only do I believe it, I practice it. For me it’s a way of life.”
April’s eyes widened slowly, her expression unreadable. “Well you must be popular with the ladies,” she muttered. There was a reedy twist of nervousness in her voice. “Just listening to you is enough to make a girl like me seriously consider the temptation of submission.”
Her words hung in the air. I said nothing. April stared at me for a moment longer and then looked away. There was a flush of color on her cheeks.
Suddenly Grover’s voice came through the speaker above the door, somehow sounding tinny and disconnected.
“I think this is the chick you’re waiting for,” he said. “She says her name is Sondra and she’s on line twenty-eight. It’s a fantasy call. Wanna take it?”
I nodded at April and she thrust her hand in the air and gave Grover the ‘thumbs up’. She adjusted her headphones and set everything to record the conversation while the music played across the airwaves.
“Sondra,” April greeted the caller like she was a long-lost friend. I saw April glance quizzically across the desk at me and realized I must be frowning.
I guess I was. I had suspected April had used her excuse of a visit to the ladies’ room the previous evening to pretend to call the station. I had suspected Sondra was really April.
Or Cecily.
I eliminated April from my short list of suspects and focused on the sound of the woman’s voice as April chatted to her. I had only spoken to Cecily briefly in the producer’s booth. I wasn’t sure I could recognize the inflections of her voice again.
“Hello Sondra,” I said into the mic. “I’m glad you called the station tonight. I understand you have another fantasy you want to share with our listeners.”
The woman’s voice was husky and breathless. “Hi Jericho,” her words were a soft little gasp that wavered. “I’m glad you took my call. There are some things I wanted to tell you.”
“Like what?”
“Like what I’m doing right now…”
I tilted my head curiously and narrowed my eyes, concentrating on the voice and the words. Everything else around me faded into the gloomy night.
“Tell me,” I said softly.
“I’m touching myself,” Sondra said around an erotic groan. “I’m lying on my bed with one hand down inside the elastic of my panties. My pussy is wet, Jericho, and I’m teasing myself listening to your voice.”
For an instant I said nothing – I just listened to the whispered sounds of the woman’s heavy breathing. “Why?”
Sondra gasped. “Because you turn me on,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, and last night – after we spoke – I gave myself a crashing orgasm. I did it again today at work. I was so wound up I had to sneak out of the office to get myself off.”
I opened my eyes suddenly and flashed a glance at April. She was watching me with enigmatic, hooded eyes, swinging slowly from side to side in her chair. She had pushed herself back away from the desk and the control console. Her legs were parted slightly and she was sitting deep in the leather. She was twirling tendrils of hair between her fingers.
“I see…” I said to Sondra. “And when you were making yourself come at work today, what exactly were you fantasizing about?”
“You,” Sondra said bluntly. “You and me, our bodies locked together in the tiny bathroom stall, my legs spread wide for you, my body arched and tensed as you took me from behind like the submissive sexy whore that I want to be. I fantasized that you had followed me into the ladies’ room and found me pleasuring myself. You ordered me to turn around and then you hiked up my skirt and pulled my panties down.”
“That sounds like an interesting fantasy,” I said, maintaining a tone of curious professional detachment. “And a risky one. What if your co-workers had found us?”
Sondra giggled but it wasn’t an amused sound. It was more a shuddering hiss of excitement.
“That would have been even better,” she whispered thickly.
“So it was the excitement and risk that aroused you?”
“No,” her voice became clear. “It was the fantasy of you making me submit to you. What makes me wet and wanting, Jericho, is the image of you standing before me and the feeling that I simply need to sink to my knees in obedience. It’s that dark, dangerous look in your eyes that sends chills down my spine and makes me want to melt.”
I raised my eyebrows and glanced back across the gloomy studio at April. Her lips were slightly parted.
“Was the fantasy you were having tonight in your bed the same one?” I asked Sondra.
“No,” she said. “It changed. Away from the office I’m a different kind of girl. Here at home I’m more comfortable.”
“So how did tonight’s fantasy begin?” I asked.
“With a bath, and then lingerie,” Sondra murmured like she was whispering in the ear of a lover. “I’ve been lying on my bed slowly touching myself and wishing it was your hand – your fingers – while imagining what it would be like if you were here now and I was restrained and naked for you to devour.”
“I would probably tease you mercilessly,” I said. “I would want you on the brink of exploding, Sondra.”
“Yes!” she groaned aloud. “I know y
ou would! That’s why I have been keeping myself on the edge, Jericho. I’ve been a good little girl for you, Master,” her tone altered and so did the context of her words. Now she was sliding from seductive into submissive. “I’ve been waiting to hear your voice – waiting for you to give me permission…”
A beat of tense sexy silence.
“… May I come, Master?”
It was a moment – one of those instants where everything hung on a word. I wasn’t sure of the ramifications, but I sensed they were there in the murkiness.
“Yes.” I said.
Sondra groaned. It was an unmistakable sound that rippled and wavered through the headphones. I imagined a woman lying on her bed with her back arched, both hands frantic between her spread thighs and the swell of her breasts heaving as she orgasmed and gasped for breath. I imagined the phone by her open mouth as her head thrashed from side to side and her hair tangled across a pillow.
For thirty seconds I called Sondra’s name, softly at first, and then more insistently. Finally I heard the scuffle sound of the phone being picked up and her voice, when she spoke, was unsteady and ragged.
“Oh, god…” she whispered.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she sounded dreamy. “Floating, actually.”
Absently, I wondered whether the radio station would play a recording of a woman experiencing an orgasm on the air. I glanced across at April. She was breathing deeply. I could see the rise and fall of her breasts. I shrugged my shoulders and gestured a question. April nodded her head and mouthed, ‘keep talking’.
“Well I am sure everyone listening enjoyed what just happened live on the air as much as we did here in the studio, Sondra.”
“I want to meet you.”
I flinched. The words came out of the night, urgent and insistent.
“Um… Sondra…”
“I have to meet you, Jericho.”
I gestured to April, dragging my thumb across my throat to give her the ‘cut out’ signal. April obediently leaped from her chair and lunged for the console.
“You’re off the air,” she said. “I’ve stopped recording.”
