Year in the Life of a Slut Ch. 04: Mar

(This is the fourth in a series of vignettes about a D/s couple's long-distance relationship and how it evolves over the course of a year. It would be helpful, but not necessary, to read them in order.)

"Paying attention to the little things is important, slut. Consider this a warning."

She was driving home from work, thinking about Sir's earlier text. She was of two minds about it. Part of her -- the part that still had her head in her everyday world, the job where she had a position of authority -- felt irritated. What the hell? He was the one who had told her that this was for fun, that she took things too seriously. And now -- this? She frowned and pushed her foot down on the gas pedal, accelerating a little faster than she should onto the freeway.

On the other hand, her apparently hardwired submissive brain was busy cataloging her missteps and oversights. He hadn't given her that many rules, although a few more had been added as their dynamic progressed. And she was usually very good about obeying them. A good girl to the core. But if pressed, she couldn't deny that recently there had been a little falling off.

They hadn't been together physically in over a month. In the time between, due to their schedules, communication during the week was often reduced to texts and emails. Not ideal, she thought wryly. She needed to see his face, hear his voice, to keep that connection strong, keep the leash firmly in his hand.

She pursed her lips. So, what were the little things she'd been lax about? Well...there was the day she had forgotten to take her pants off and keep her remote vibrator handy while she worked from home, one of Sir's rules. He occasionally liked to surprise her with some remote play. Mmm, those were fun days. But on that day, she'd forgotten the rule, had put on her jeans. And when he checked in with her later in the day, she'd told him. He was annoyed but she got off with a warning...and his refusal to play with her. Which she had regretted intensely.

Also, she had fallen behind on publishing the stories that she wrote for an erotic fiction website, loosely based on their encounters. Sir had nudged her several times about it. She excused herself, knowing it wasn't a strict rule she was violating. She really had been busy lately. But it was clearly his wish, and it niggled at her conscience that she hadn't done it.

Then there was the time she hadn't sent him the picture he required daily: posed submissively, wearing only her underwear. It had been a Sunday, and she'd felt like lazing about, which she had brazenly said in her email with her usual report and daily schedule. He'd given her a verbal check, and when she jokingly mentioned punishment, had asked whether she thought she deserved it.

The question had thrown her off stride. She was new to the world of Dom/sub relationships. Shouldn't it be up to him to decide if and when she was due a punishment? Several times when they'd been together, he'd punished her for small things. Nothing too significant...but he certainly hadn't asked her opinion about it.

And now, a cryptic text. This evening they were scheduled to talk and perhaps...she hoped...play on webcam. Something she'd been looking forward to. So then, why had she agreed to put in a quick appearance at a colleague's after-work birthday party before heading home? It's not like she hadn't let Sir know -- she'd texted him promptly to tell him she might be running late. She wasn't sure how long she'd stay, and traffic was, as always, unpredictable.

His reply, such as it was, had a somewhat ominous tone. Like the edge of a keenly sharpened axe, it split her neatly into two halves. One argued that it was just a reminder. The other was quaking in her boots.

She shook her head, feeling a little bewildered as her two sides clashed. Why had she said she'd drop by this party? The woman wasn't even part of the group she considered her work friends. And hadn't she just admitted how much she wanted -- needed -- to connect with Sir? She just didn't like turning anyone down.

No, that was a cop-out. She felt a tightening at the back of her neck, just where Sir would squeeze her to restrain her or guide her position. It wouldn't have given her a single qualm to say no. But she was here now -- already in the parking lot -- so she might as well go in and stay, just for a few minutes.

She didn't enjoy it. Her mind continued to needle her, piling on the guilt. She had asked him for more control a few months ago, but he had only recently begun to grant her request. She'd felt so pleased that he thought she was ready. She wanted that control, loved it, felt a kind of contentment that was almost addictive after doing something for him. And when he praised her, she felt like it was her birthday.

After only a few minutes, once "Happy Birthday" had been sung and she'd wished the honoree well, she tried to extricate herself. If she left promptly, she could still be on time. She nearly snapped at a friend who urged her to stay for a slice of cake.

But of course, she had tempted fate, waited too long. Rush hour traffic was in full spate. She'd never make it. She sighed and used her hands-free set-up to text Sir. She was basically at a standstill on the freeway, and no one was moving ahead of her. By now she felt a little shaky. Her feeling of apprehension escalated as minutes ticked by and she didn't receive any reply.

Feverishly she thought of all the things she had done. Tasks completed, photos sent, stories written. That counted for something, right?

Not in this world, her inner submissive voice answered. In this world, obedience was expected. Leniency might occasionally be given, but it couldn't be requested. It was Sir's prerogative.

She squirmed in her seat as guilt permeated her. She tried to think logically, but she was too anxious. There was something...some thought...if she could just catch hold of it. Instead, she veered from heaping blame on herself to wondering abjectly if Sir even cared or noticed, since he hadn't responded.

Finally, she heard the tone alerting her to his texts. The screen read only, "Text me once you are home." It didn't do a thing to relieve her anxiety.

She put on some calming music to quiet her noisy thoughts. It helped; her breathing slowed down and she could think again. Damn it, why was this happening now, when he was going to be visiting her this weekend? Tonight's chat was to finalize their plans. Was he going to be angry with her when they were together? Would he be so annoyed that he'd cancel altogether? She almost sobbed in frustration, feeling terrible about what she'd carelessly done.

Suddenly things clicked and she understood why Sir had asked her, on that previous occasion, if she thought she deserved a punishment. It was something she'd heard about from other submissives, but it was the first time she had experienced it. That feeling...that need for punishment, because punishment led to forgiveness. It cleaned the slate between dom and submissive. She got it, in a visceral way; got why a submissive would ask for a punishment, and why a dom would assess the need for one. Not just to instill obedience, but to...to.... She couldn't quite complete the thought.

Just then, traffic started to move. She reminded herself to stay cool and drive safely, even though she wanted to race home. What was done was done. And she had a request to formulate.

Once at her condo, she headed to her laptop. She'd had time enough to compose her email to Sir during the remainder of her drive. In it, she enumerated her offenses and requested his punishment. When she hit Send, her shoulders slumped in relief. She didn't even wonder why she immediately felt better.

His response was swift. "I'm pleased you recognize the need for punishment, little one," his email said. "You've been testing me. Testing our relationship. It's not unusual in a new dynamic and we'll deal with that when I arrive. Until then, you may touch yourself, but you do not have permission to come. Failure to obey me in this will make your punishment far worse."

The flood of relief she felt when he confirmed that he was still planning to visit was checked in rapid succession by his order. She read it again, felt her thigh muscles tighten. Those few words immediately made her feel like his possession, tugged back into her rightful place.

She sucked in a breath and calculated -- today was Wednesday, and Sir wasn't scheduled to arrive until Saturday morning. And if she knew Sir, he wouldn't be content to leave her to her own devices for the next few days. No, he would make those days difficult.

In bed that night she tossed and turned. Between wondering how he would punish her and thinking about what he'd commanded, she was a sleepless mess. She imagined herself at his feet, a desperate needy thing -- not needy for her own pleasure but to serve him, make him come. It was a primal urge, one that must be hardwired from some long-ago biological imperative. Maybe it stemmed from her sense of guilt, but she felt if she could service him, it would lessen her own need.

Not sure if it was a good idea but unable to resist, she retrieved the dildo from her nightstand drawer and rubbed it over her face, while imagining Sir watching. After licking it thoroughly, she moaned, begging, but in her mind there was no response from him. Because she already had his answer: "Do not come."

Feeling somewhat daring, she turned onto her stomach. Placing the dildo between her legs, she did a slow writhe back and forth on it, gliding it over her panties several times. But she didn't take it all the way to an edge. She was afraid that she wouldn't stop, the feeling too intense, the pleasure too close to deny.

First thing the next morning, when she sent Sir her daily photo, she included a heartfelt request -- asking him whether, when she edged that evening, he would allow her to imagine him using her mouth while she did, letting her service him until he came.

In truth, his upcoming visit, her denial, the idea of being punished -- it was all combining to make her feel wonderfully subservient. It was a feeling that returned at odd times during her busy day, making her eyes go slightly out of focus and her lips curve in a secret smile.

That feeling only increased at lunchtime, when she was finally able to check her phone for messages. There was one from Sir, granting her request but setting some conditions of his own:

Yes, you may beg me to fuck your mouth this evening. On webcam. When you get home, strip except for your panties. Eat dinner, do whatever you need to do, but be ready by 8:00 pm. Put your laptop on your coffee table and sit in that armless chair facing it. Spread your legs wide and place one hand inside your panties, one finger resting on your clit. Don't move it. Wait just like that.

Oh...god.... She felt a reflexive clench of her pussy as she read his words. And a moment later she realized that she'd need to retrieve the extra pair of panties she now kept in her desk -- hers were drenched.

The afternoon passed slowly. Her thoughts were preoccupied with her evening plans, making her forgetful and clumsy, so that she showed up ten minutes late for an important meeting, then knocked over her can of soda while she was trying to settle herself quietly at the table. She blushed, then spent most of the meeting wondering if her colleagues had noticed anything different about her.

She left work in plenty of time to drive home, even if there was a traffic snafu. Once there, she removed her clothes as he'd directed, amazed at how vulnerable it made her feel to move around her condo that way. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd been naked there. But knowing it was at Sir's behest was...well, it took her to that other place. The one where he ordered, and she obeyed. Where she begged and he decided. She gave a little shiver as she sat down to eat.

Everything was ready well before the allotted time. She'd put a selection of Sir's favorite toys within easy reach, just in case. She'd touched up her make-up and brushed her hair. Now she had nothing to do other than wait for him, her legs spread wide, her hand positioned under her panties as he'd ordered.

It was maddening to feel the light pressure of her fingers but not be able to move them, tease herself with them. As the minutes ticked by, her nipples contracted and every nerve in her body seemed linked to that small nub resting just under her middle finger. Her body sank into the back of the comfortable chair as her hips tipped up. She closed her eyes, imagining that finger tracing around and around in small circles, tapping gently....

Then Sir's face appeared on the screen. She sat up with a guilty start.

Sir grinned, as if knowing the reason for her blush. "Good evening, little slut. Nice to see my possession spread out and waiting for me. On time tonight, I see?"

She lowered her eyes at the implied rebuke, murmured, "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry about last night -- "

He cut her off. "We'll deal with that this weekend. As for now, did you obey my orders? Were you able to keep that greedy hand still?"

She nodded, "Yes, Sir." Then a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she added, "Barely."

After a snort of laughter, he replied, "I expected no less." He paused a moment, and she looked at him hungrily. He saw it, and his face took on that focused, intense look that made her grow still, made her quake a little on the inside.

The silence grew, became heavy with anticipation. Then he said, "Do you have your dildo?"

She reached beside her, picked it up, showing it to him. "Yes, Sir."

"Good girl. Tease yourself with it over your panties, keeping those legs as wide as possible. Imagine it's my cock. Rub it over your body; on your face and over your tits. Show me how much you love to worship it. And how much my little cockslut likes being used for my enjoyment."

His words turned the sweet ache in her center into a blazing fire. With a little sound she couldn't repress, she did as she was told, letting that command reverberate through her. She kept her eyes on his as she took the realistic-looking dildo and stroked it along the slit that was visible through her almost transparent silky white panties. He could see her hand hesitate a little each time she rubbed it over her clit, as if she wanted to linger there.

The little slut had worn those panties on purpose; he was sure of it. She heard his growl, "Your body is more than just your needy pussy, slut. Use more of it."

With a reluctance she couldn't hide, she trailed the head of the dildo up her torso, circling her navel, guiding it between her tits. They were full and heavy enough that he could imagine himself fucking them, fucking that space in between while she used her hands to push them together firmly for his pleasure, her thumbs stroking over her nipples, her back arched in pleasure.

He shifted himself in his chair. Watching her closely, he could see her slightly open mouth, her lower lip wet where her tongue had touched it. Suddenly he wanted to know what she was thinking. He was just about to tell her that, when the words began to tumble from her mouth.

"Ohhh...god...Sir...," she had to take a deep, trembling breath. "I love being used...just an object for Sir's enjoyment. Am I...pleasing you, Sir?" Her eyes were pleading, desperate for his approval. She must have seen what she needed in his eyes, because she continued, "May I...may I use my mouth Sir? To worship your cock?"

While she waited for his answer, she rubbed the dildo over her face, her pleasure obvious. His own cock hardened to the point where his jeans were uncomfortable.

After a long moment, he said roughly, "You may. But first tell me what you are."

He heard her moan, a sound that was full of pent-up desire. She started to answer, but he interrupted her. "Give your pussy a spank first for being such a needy slut."

He watched her transfer the dildo to her other hand, then position her right hand to give a hard spank to her pussy. She knew instinctively that if she didn't do it hard enough, he'd make her repeat it.

He could almost feel the shudder that went through her. She panted hard for a moment. Then she answered, eyes down. "I'm your obedient fucktoy, Sir. Hot and wet; always ready for...for Sir's pleasure."

He gave a stern smile. "That's right. For my pleasure. And why is that?"

Her arousal made her mind slow, made her tongue feel thick in her mouth. "Because...because my pussy belongs to you, Sir. All of...all of me belongs to you."

"Very good girl. Now I'm going to watch you suck that dildo like it's my cock while I make myself come."

She whined as her body tensed and wriggled. She knew it was silly, but she wanted his cock, the real thing, in her mouth. She was his toy; she should be pleasuring him. Her pussy spasmed, and her arousal only grew at the humiliating thought that he'd be able to see how wet her panties were getting.

She closed her lips around the dildo, pushing it slowly into her mouth, getting it nice and wet. Her brain was doing that floating-sinking thing, but she was so attuned to his wishes that she snapped to attention when his voice rasped, "Show me how much of a filthy whore you are. Make it obscene."

Her eyes registered that Sir had opened his fly, was stroking his cock while watching her with those eyes that missed nothing. She exaggerated her every move for him. Tits thrust out, mouth wide, her moans as she used the dildo to fuck her own mouth were declarations of her need for more. She lifted her chin higher, hoping he could see the bulge of the dildo at the top of her narrow throat. Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes when she gagged slightly.

At some point their eyes locked and held. Then he was coming, hard. The hunger in her eyes made his cum spray forcefully onto the floor. She felt a pale echo of his pleasure inside her, claimed it as her own reward. It wasn't an orgasm but...it felt good to have served him, pleased him.

Hardly knowing what she was saying, words poured from her. She begged him. "Please...Sir...please let your little slut come now. I can't wait until...oh god...I need it, Sir. Please...." Her voice was rapidly ascending a scale of need that caught his attention.

His brusque command brought her back to his control. "You are not allowed to come." He watched his words sink in, watched her actions slow. He took a gulp of air, still feeling spent, then said calmly, "That's enough now, little slut. Put the dildo down."

He waited until she obeyed him, swaying slightly in the effort to hold back her own need. It made him want to be there in the room with her. To tighten his hand over her neck, bend her over the chair and spank her. Then fuck her. He smiled ruefully. Soon enough.

Instead, he said firmly, "Good girl. Pull down those wet panties. All the way off. Spread your pussy lips for me."

With shaky hands, she obeyed. He could see hope in her eyes. Surely now he'd allow her to come.

With a small smile that might have been considered cruel, he said, "Now sit there. Just like that. No touching what's mine. Just sit and display your needy pussy for me. Let me look at my pretty little fucktoy."

Later, when she crawled into bed, her body still thrummed with need. He'd made her sit like that for nearly half an hour, her pussy twitching occasionally as she thought about all the things she'd like him to do her, all the things she'd do to herself if he'd only allow her. This punishment -- or whatever it was -- was a vivid reminder of how aroused she felt when he controlled her like this, humiliated her, denied her for his pleasure.

The last few minutes of their time together had been spent finalizing logistics for the weekend. She'd had to pull herself together in order to concentrate on details. He didn't like it when she forgot things. But all she could think was that she had only one more day to go before he'd arrive, and she'd pick him up at the airport.