Three nights ago, Mr. X was too tired to listen to me cum and mandated that I masturbate on my own and report back to him about the experience.
At first I was thrown, to the point of near-tears. In the 18 months that I have been his, I might have climaxed on my own about seven times. And have felt utterly guilty after each one. So much so, not only do I barely enjoy the experience, I tend to call him up crying, begging for my master’s forgiveness. My body, my pussy, my heart, are all so completely his property that cumming without him feels like cheating.
But Mr. X was adament that my pussy was to seize in pleasure that night, and who am I to argue? After assuring me that not only did I have his permission to touch myself, but that I was absolutely ordered to finger myself, he bid me goodnight and left me to my work.
I closed my eyes, nervously crept my fingers down to my dripping wet cavern, and tried desperately to fill my lonely mind with thoughts of you…
…As I spread the lips of my pussy apart and lightly teased my clit with my middle finger, I imagined how proud you’d be of me. How you must be smirking at yourself smugly in the bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth some 150 miles away, realizing that at this very moment, your little princess was abusing herself to thoughts of you.
And, oh, how I abused myself. One finger became two as I imagined you watching me. Scoffing at what a tremendous nymphomaniac I am, a girl who can hardly keep my hands out of my panties. This is why the “no masturbation” rule is in place, after all, not because you want to stake your claim to my pussy, but for my own good, for without it, your stupid, horny girl would spend morning, noon, and night caressing, rubbing, touching, and all around fucking herself.
My pussy filled with wetness and I stuck a finger in my hole, still working at my clit with my thumb as your voice filled my head. Horny little slut. You can’t possibly be trusted on your own. I think I’m going to have to keep you, chain you up so you can’t get in any trouble. That’s right, hands tied high above your head; it’s the only way I can be sure my dirty little girl isn’t being bad. My slut, my whore, my pretty little property. Don’t worry though, bitch, you’ll still be coming a lot, only, it’ll be on my schedule. With my princess under lock and key ,all I’d have to do is walk into your room, toss you a toy, and demand that you fuck yourself, bitch and watch you go to work. And if I got bored? I’d walk away. You better keep me entertained, baby, you don’t want to know what’s gonna happen if you don’t…
It was somewhere around there I exploded, my clit pulsating, sending bands of warm pleasure radiating through my whole body. As my pussy calmed down, the manic contractions finally subsiding, I reveled in how fantastic to have a real and fulfilling orgasm on my own.
But I wasn’t really on my own. With his permission, and demand for a report afterwards, it was like he was holding my hand the whole way. Getting off was a service, was in service, for him – the fact that i got pleasure from it, well, that’s a side note.
“And have felt utterly guilty after each one.”
What the hell for??
For me, coming without letting my Mr. X see, hear, or feel my orgasm is embarrassing, self centered, and ultimately a lonely experience.
He turns me on. I come for him, because of him. While I do get horny independently (he jokes often the wind alone can get me going), it’s up to me to call and ask for release (or beg him, if I’m lucky enough to be with him), or simply wait till he’s ready.
He owns me in that way and it’s important for us both.
We’re often separated, so finger fucking myself for his benefit is a favored way to be sexually connected. With that in mind, doing it alone really does feel like cheating.
Thank you for reading.
- Bettie CP