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“I want to taste you,” he said, the words wrapping around me like a warm mist. “I want to suck your warm, sweet juices until you scream for more. I want to make you beg…and then I’m going to plunge deep inside of you, plundering your wet, sexy body until you can’t breathe…until you can’t think.”
My eyes widened, my body beginning to prickle. His words, so bold, so intimate, sent a delicious shiver between my thighs. What would he do then? Would he want me to taste him as well…to lick his 10″ tool until it spewed his hot seed all over my face…down my throat? Would he flip me over on the floor and penetrate me from behind? Maybe he’ll bind my arms and legs and take a slow, tortuous perusal of my body while I squirm beneath him in sensual agony.
I’d like that.
Sighing, I checked my watch and ran a comb through my long, auburn curls. Well, he’d better hurry then. He’s the fourth one this morning, and I have to leave for work soon.
This Internet is going to get me fired yet…
Has it only been six months since my first computer came through the door, a present for my twentieth birthday? It’s hard to believe! How did I exist before it came into my life? I can still remember the maze of decisions that came with it…what hardware…what software…what server?
Finally I chose a cable server, a high-speed connection that had been praised by my boyfriend, Jess. Was he right? I have no idea. What is considered high-speed in a world where even the most modest connection can have you enjoying intimate communion from your bedroom in Tucson, with a man on the other side of the planet in mere seconds? It amazes me. No, more than that…it consumes me.
At first I isolated myself in my word program, keeping records, a journal, a few recipes. But then I began to “search” for more…information on this and that…bringing both great minds and small right into my bedroom at the drop of a hat.
Then had come the day when I’d discovered “chat”.
It had been a modest adventure in the beginning, popping into various rooms devoted to hobbies, entertainment, talking to people who enjoyed the same television shows that I did. Soon, however, it began to fill my mind, my dreary days with thoughts of my next connection… my next cyberspace “fix”. My solitary existence began to fade into the distance, to fill with the faceless people that populated my nights. My life had become transformed from that of a little mouse in a frightening world, to that of a woman of consequence…someone to listen to…someone who counts.
And it was good. It was exhilarating…and addictive.
Then had come the day when I’d found the “adult” rooms and entered the world of men…tall men, short men, men who caressed me with their words as no others ever had…men who took me to dark places inside of myself, behind my innocent, blue eyes and sent me spinning into the unknown.
I live two lives now…two irreconcilable existences. By day I am Jillian, shy little store clerk at the local Z-Mart, but every evening, when all is said and done, I become “bleu_light_special”, queen of the night.
He touches me softly my long, auburn hair curled against the pillow, the dedicated passion of His fingers twining itself deep within my wet folds. I shiver at the thought of Him, at the promise of His body so close to mine. Moist swirls of delicious intoxication overcome me.
What marvels will He share with me tonight…what sensuous delights? What gilded cage shall I swing from for His pleasure? I don’t know…I don’t care.
His touch is my opium, his will my commandment. I pass the long hours each day waiting for his name to cross my screen once more. He consumes me.
Someday we’ll have to meet…
I think this internet is going to be the death of me yet. It’s all I think about anymore…that, and the man who calls himself “the_captain.”
It all started so innocently, so unremarkably. One day I had a bare desktop, and the next, there sat my new computer…virginal and untouched.
Do you know how hard it is to work when everyone who passes your way reminds you of some anonymous, intimate encounter? That man, the one with the rose tattoo on his left arm, could he be “trans_american_4u”, the guy who tore my clothes off on the floor of his garage and sent me off at a million rpm’s? Or that guy, the one with the red hair and the incredible biceps…is that “red_ hot_daddy”, the one who likes ’em young…really young?
My mind spins, and my work falters. I hear the manager over the loud speaker saying “Attention Z-Mart shoppers. For the next ten minutes, we’ll be selling pantyhose in the lingerie aisle for an incredibly reduced price.” I hear, but in my mind I’m thinking “Those would be so nice wrapped around my wrists, tied cleverly to the bedposts, wouldn’t they?”
Finally, it’s time to go home, to the blessed confines of my apartment, home to my cat illegal bahis and my computer…my life begins again. I am once more bleu_light_special.
Quickly I take a TV dinner out of the freezer and turn on my answering machine. A message from Jess awaits. He won’t be coming this weekend. His mother is sick…again. Oh well. Sometimes I wonder if it matters. Am I her surrogate, or is she mine…an interesting thought. Jillian Johnson would care, but not bleu_light_special. There are so many choices out there in the big, hairy world. Why quibble over a single man wielding a thermometer when men like “the_captain” await?
Quietly I feed my cat so that I may once more settle myself peacefully atop my empty bed, my keyboard resting on my warm, firm thighs before my monitor. I gently caress the power control and it comes to life, greeting me, welcoming me home. Carefully, I select a chat room to fill my evening while I wait. What will it be tonight? So many choices, so many men…my palms itch at the prospect.
Finally, I settle on the Bondage Room…Doms and subs, Masters and slaves cavorting and posturing for each other…a risqué fantasy, and it suits my mood tonight. “Yes, Sir. As you wish, Sir. On my knees, Sir?” Like an erotic mantra it swirls in my mind, as visions of stern Masters in leather-bound chairs rise before my youthful, all-seeing eyes.
I’m known here…known well, and in mere seconds the messages begin to fill my screen. Some are crude, some demanding…some know how to play the game and some don’t. And for some this is no game at all, it’s a way of life. No, it’s more than that…it’s life itself, and for this brief space in time, I become one of them.
Pensively, the heat building between my thighs, my full breasts beginning to ache with need, I scan their overtures, their profiles, searching for one who knows what I know…that tonight will be something special.
Then it happens, and the_captain’s screen name passes before me! I know that he will require nothing but my best performance. He’s the real thing. He won’t accept a fake, and I won’t disappoint him.
We’re linked in a way that only someone in this peculiar relationship can be. I can feel Him thinking. I can hear Him measuring the miles, forming the questions.
“What have you been doing with yourself today, Bleu?” He asks, as if He doesn’t know already.
“Nothing, Sir” I respond dutifully, the lukewarm passage of hours melting away into obscurity.
“Have you touched yourself today?” He demands to know. “I want the truth.”
I feel the hot curl of His words insinuate itself deep in my belly, His question eliciting a moist rush between my thighs.
“No, Sir. You told me not to, and I’ve obeyed.”
He pauses, and repeats once more my fatal shortcoming. “I’m looking for someone in real life,” He replies, bluntly. “You know that. I want to touch you with more than words.”
Now it’s my turn to pause, but quickly I hide my disappointment. “I’m sorry, Sir. ‘this one’ is available only online.”
Fearfully, I expect to see Him curtail the conversation at this point, to fade back into the maze of fonts that parade before me, but He doesn’t. Instead He allows the game to continue for another night.
“Are you hungry now?” He asks, “Does your body ache for what only I can give you? Would you like to touch yourself?”
I quiver. I know what comes next. I yearn for it…crave it. It’s something I need, and he knows it.
“Yes, Sir.” I type, my pulse racing, pounding in my head.
“Proceed then,” He demands, and I feel my nipples begin to harden.
Once more I begin my carefully composed dialogue. “I await Your arrival from the office, Sir. I wear only a thin, gold chain about my waist, and the collar that binds me body and soul to Your service. I reach out and relieve You of your briefcase, setting it aside as I lead You to Your favorite, leather easy chair. I want to touch myself, but I know I can’t. My body belongs to You now, and only You may give vent to my passions. And so I wait, kneeling on the floor between Your knees, my naked thighs spread wide, exposing my glistening sex, my hands resting atop them, palms upward in submission.”
Words…words…how can simple words squirm inside my belly like living things, writhing in wild abandon at the very core of my sexuality?
“Very nice, Bleu,” He comments, “You’ve been trained you well. You know your place. Have you anticipated My arrival tonight?” He questions.
I lift my gaze to the monitor that conceals His muscled thighs. “Yes, Sir,” I reply. “What would You have me do, Sir?” I ask anxiously.
His words are bold now…commanding. “Open yourself, Bleu. Prove your willingness to please Me.” He demands.
I know what He wants…what I want. A good slave always does. I part my legs even wider…wider yet as my quivering hand slides beneath the elastic of my panties…until my moist petals gape wet and quivering before His cyber-gaze. Then, pinching my labia between my thumb and forefinger illegal bahis siteleri I open my sex so that he may gauge my readiness.
His tone now registers His approval. “That’s satisfactory, Bleu. Now entertain Me. I want to watch you pleasure yourself before Me.”
Oh..He’s good! He knows how to keep the game interesting. Quickly I rearrange myself atop the coverlet, sliding my panties down the length of my legs and off, my skirt hiking high around my waist. I’ll have to type with one hand now, but I’ve become proficient over the months. This will do nicely…very nicely.
The distinction between reality and cyberspace begins to fade, a hot flush insinuating itself beneath my flesh. I feel my fingers penetrate the downy red fluff between my legs, a familiar thrill coursing through my body. Eagerly I begin to massage my throbbing bud for His pleasure, feeling the moisture begin to flow across my fingertips as the tension mounts. My breath becomes labored and my body begins to tense. More..more…
“Stop,” he demands.
Stop? He wants me to stop! This is different…terribly different. How can I do what He wants when I need it so badly? How can He ask this of me?
“Stand up, ” He orders, “and turn around. Bent over and straddle My thighs. I want to inspect my property.”
I’m beside myself now. My body aches for fulfillment, but it isn’t to be. My Master has commanded me to stop, and so I must.
He pauses once more, and I expect to feel His hand probing between my legs, feeding my hunger, but once more He surprises me.
“No,” He says. “This won’t do. How far are you willing to go for Me, Bleu? How desperate are you to experience the completion that only I can give you?”
Desperate? I’ve never thought of myself as desperate. Does He think He knows me that well already? Can He see, even through the haze of cyberspace how much I need Him…how much I need this? Again I feel the frustration build deep in the pit of my stomach. He won’t leave me now, will He? I want Him to stay…to play the game…to fill the void I’ve carried all day. And suddenly the word slips quivering from my lips, mouthed silently as my fingers tap the keys.
What have I done? What will He demand now? But, in my deepest reaches, I know. I know even before He continues, before He seals my fate.
“Meet me at Gringo Pass in two hours. Wear a blue dress…full and short,” He demands…not a request. He knows what He wants. I’m to obey without question.
I pause. “Should I bring my passport, Sir” I ask, my fingers shaking as I read the words they type. Have I lost my mind? Will He take me into Mexico, I wonder as I watch the local name for the Lukeville border crossing taunting me from the screen? What will He do then?
“No,” He replies. “You’re property now. Mine. Property doesn’t require a passport.”
And then, with two final words, He leaves me to my trepidation.
“Be there. You’ll be watched.”
I sit, stunned at what I’ve just said, what I’ve just done. He was nearby all along! What should I do? What will I do? I can hear the heavy echo of my own breath in my ears, the erratic pounding of my heart. I’m frozen in place, I’m sure that I can’t move, but then I do. I rise and head for the bedroom…and begin to pack a suitcase.
The ride to Lukeville, along the Mexican border, is long and dusty. Alone on the barren highway that crosses the desolate reaches of the desert, it’s hard to keep my mind from screaming that what I’m doing is wrong…so wrong. Shallow graves lie in the wastelands that surround me, filled with just such foolish people as I. They’ll never be found…missed only on special days of remembrance…lost to the ages in unmarked interment.
The hours fall behind me and soon the sun has given up its perpetual demands on the parched earth. Night falls, and my isolation is complete. Strange lights appear in the sky over the Air Force gunnery range to the west. They seem to follow me, to mock me. Are they harbingers of my fate…testimonies to my folly? Have I lost all sanity on this wayward diversion to my safe, but boring life?
Finally, far in the distance I see the halogen lights that herald the border crossing. Their gravity takes hold and I’m drawn foreword. There’s no turning back now. Like a moth to a flame…I’m their prisoner.
It nears. Now I can see the American crossing guards at Lukeville, their Mexican counterparts nearby on the Sonoita side. A parking place…where is a parking place, I wonder? And then I see it, a small turnoff to the left, tucked intimately beneath a copse of palo verde trees.
Numb, I pull my insignificant Beetle to the right and turn off the engine. I’m here. Now what?
A soft breeze, something unseen from the desert wafts gently through the trees, rustling their branches above me as I wait.
Suddenly a man, raw boned and huge appears in my rear-view mirror. His eyes are as dark as the western suit He wears, as sharp as the creases in his canlı bahis siteleri oh-so -expensive pants. He crosses the dirt-packed parking area and approaches my car. Could that be Him, I wonder, taking in his massive size and stern demeanor? He could crush me like a bug. What have I done?
Without hesitation He strides up to my window, His hand motioning for me to get out.
I obey. What else can I do?
“Give me your keys.” He demands, His voice low and husky. “Someone will take care of your car.”
Take care of my car? What does that mean? Then, reaching inside, He tucks them neatly behind the visor to await the mysterious “someone” who will soon claim them.
He turns, His eyes assessing me, undressing me in the variegated gloom of the shifting trees. They probe me, touch me, weigh and measure my acceptance.
“Lift your skirt.” He orders, as though we were not a mere 50 yards from the border guards. “Now.”
Trembling, I step back into the uneasy privacy offered by the shadows of the trees and lift my skirt to my thighs.
I lift my skirt higher, higher until His eyes register that I’ve done his bidding satisfactorily. I expect some sign of appreciation for my body, I’ve been told it’s nice…but none appears. Instead a frown forms a furrow across his brow.
“Panties…pantyhose.” He murmurs. You weren’t supposed to wear those.” Then, without preamble He thrusts his ham-like palm down the front of my dress. “And a bra,” He rumbles, his hand painfully squeezing my trembling breast. “You were told to wear a blue dress. Nothing was said about undergarments.”
He turns then, as if making up His mind about something, and gestures me toward a car parked about ten yards away. A Hummvee. Black. The kind that gentlemen drive…gentlemen with money…lots of it.
He flicks his finger in the direction of the vehicle.
“Get in.” He directs curtly. “I want to watch you walk.”
My knees tremble. I feel His eyes follow me across the hard, packed sand until I reach the SUV and open the door. Quickly I slide into the passenger seat and hear the soft click of the door latch behind me, dropping the curtain on this humiliating peep show. I wait, but not for long. In mere seconds He is beside me, my suitcase tossed like so much offal in the back seat, His long legs unfurling beneath the dashboard as the monster roars to life.
The inside of His car is impressive…black leather… custom interiors, I’m sure. This Hummvee has never seen battle, at least not the kind that makes the 6 o’clock news. The dashboard is alive with lights, reds, greens and golds that indicate things over which I can only guess. He reverses, makes a turn, then pulls forward toward the crossing point, toward the only stop sign for a hundred miles in any direction…but He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t have to. Even the guards seem to know that, and they display their deference by stepping away as He passes. How many times has The Captain done this, I wonder? An established pattern is beginning to form, and I’m a part of it. Does one survive such a thing?
We drive silently through the small border village of Sonoita, then take a left-hand turn in the direction that a sign says leads to Puerto Penasco, an ancient shrimping port along the Sea of Cortez. In no time at all, we’re swallowed up in the moonlit vastness of the desert, alone on a road that leads to the edge of the known world.
We drive in silence for about 20 minutes, long enough for my heart rate to calm and my knees to stop twitching, but then He slows. Are we there, I wonder, searching the barren scrub brush for a house of some sort? But no, we are on the side of the roadway, alone in a place that even the prairie dogs would shun.
In a cloud of dust He pulls off to the right and kills the engine.
“Get out,” He orders, seeing the fear rise in my eyes. “And stand beside the car.”
Slowly, I open the door and slip out into the desert. Is this where He defiles me, rapes and tortures me, then tosses my broken body out into this vast wasteland, I wonder?
I tremble once more, and feel the solidity of the fender supporting me from behind.
“Stand away,” He says, knowing I can do nothing but obey. “Stand there, in the headlights.”
I swallow hard and circle toward the front of the car. What will He have me do now? I don’t have to wonder long.
“Pull up your skirt again,” He orders. “And take those damned panties and pantyhose off.”
Here? In the headlights? What if someone drives by…if someone sees? But, again I have no choice, so quivering, I slip my fingers beneath the elastic of my pantyhose, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other as I slide them down the length of my thighs. A flush, red and hot rises and consumes me…and I turn away.
“No!” He commands sharply. “I want to watch you. Face me!”
Once more I turn back towards my tormentor. He is in command…the power is all His.
“Now the panties,” He continues, His voice taking on a dusky tone.
I feel fear. I feel shame. I feel curiously aroused.
Slowly I peel the thin lace of my panties down to my ankles, the soft breeze caressing my pubic hair, until finally the wispy garment lies in the dust along with my pantyhose.
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