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“And t-shirt,” I quickly added.
There was a noticeable pause from Jason. “Put the phone down and take them off,” his voice was delicious and I was becoming responsive to his tone.
Putting the phone, I took off my t-shirt, bra and undies. Picking up the phone, I put it to my ear.
“I’ve done that, sir,” I purred down the phone at him. “I’m lovely and naked, stretched out on the bed.”
“Take a photo with your phone and send it to me.”
Crikey, the seemingly mundane call was definitely rising in temperature. I stretched my arm up and took a shot of my body stretched out for him. Fiddling with the buttons, I worked out how to send the photo as a text message. The silence, while I waited for him to receive it, was endless.
“Good. You look very sexy. Now, using one finger I want to you touch yourself and tell me what you’re doing,” his voice was like treacle, dripping slowly down the phone to me.
I used my index finger and started to circle one of my nipples until it was rigid and stiff. Just having him on the end of the phone I was on fire as if he was lying right next to me in bed.
“I’m playing with one of my nipples, sir,” I said in hushed tones. I moved my finger down to my navel. “I'm moving my finger slowly down my body, caressing very gently.”
“Keep going, I like where you going with that finger.”
I was lying on my back squirming. My finger reached my clitoris and I gave it a little rub, gently at first and then harder.
“I’m rubbing clit for you now, sir.”
Jason must be able to hear the arousal in my voice, because I was sure I heard him chuckle to himself. “Find some clothes pegs, one on each nipple. Go!”
I dashed out to the kitchen and found two pegs as asked and lying on the bed positioned them on each nipple. I made sure the phone was by my chin so he could hear my wincing.
“Done, sir. My nipples are pinched tight.”
“Spread your legs wide and put your finger inside and tell me what you find.”
Oh my! Phone sex was great, so kinky. I gently placed my index finger inside and I knew what I found. I pushed my finger in as deep as it would go and hoped he would let me worked in and out.
“I’m very wet, sir, wet for you. I’m ready to fuck myself with my finger,” I panted at him with throbbing nipples.
“Good. I like to know you are always ready for me.”
I waited for his next instruction I wanted to come for him over the phone. The pause seemed like an eternity.
“Well, Gemma, you can take your finger out now. Pegs off, put your clothes back on and get back to packing.” Jason’s tone had changed, it had gone all boss like.
My somersaults stopped mid vault and I deflated like a punctured balloon. I let out an audible ouch as I removed the pegs.
Oooo nooo I was so close - unbearable!
“You’re not to come, remember my rules. I need to get back to work now, I have stuff to do,” he said matter-of-factly and hung up.
Arggghhh, my body was wound up tight for him and he had hung up. The rejection felt wasteful and I was dejected. I lay there and dared myself - go on would he really know? I was not seeing him until the weekend, by then I would have rehearsed my lie – a little lie - and he would not suspect.
Masturbation was my sexual weakness. To prevent my growing vicarious love life from spiralling out of control, I went the do-it-yourself route. It involved less emotional hassle and easier to master. Quick and certainly not as messy as sex, no bothering with condoms or sweaty bodies. I had a small collection of vibrators, big and small which I had kept stashed in the bottom drawer of my various bedrooms. Originally, at my parent’s home, then my student digs and finally my own little apartment. I had practised my secret vice with little to curtail my ravenous habit.
Harmless I had told myself. No alcohol or drugs, I did not smoke or over eat especially. I exercised, walked instead of catching buses or the tube trains. As far as I was concerned, I looked after myself well. I did not see any mental dependency or an addiction. Everyone did it, didn’t they? Well, maybe not every day.
My first master, the one who took me under his wing and nurtured my submissive nature, had a different opinion. The day he had taken me to his house for the first time as we had crossed the threshold, he had spoken with quiet determination and absolute authority.
“Gemma, once you enter my house, you will be mine to control. You will obey me, do as I wish and learn what you need to do without questioning my motives. Things that make no sense to you to begin with, will become of use later. You have to trust me. Do you trust me, Gemma?”
“Yes. Sir.” I had said with my heart fluttering wildly.
