Submissive Desire SeXStoRY

Alexa strode on perfectly shapely legs across the bedroom towards the desk, leaning closer to the webcam so that in the software playback window she loomed large, intimidating and severe, ruby-red lips spitting every word: “What did I say about touching?” In the larger display window on her monitor, the man dropped his hands back to his side, away from the mighty erection that he was so desperate to tend. Mr Friday Night was sat in his computer chair, trousers tugged down to his thighs, restricting leg movement. Earlier during the session he had stretched a ring of taut rubber down his shaft and around the base of his scrotum, heightening pleasure and ensuring he stayed engorged and on the edge of exquisite release. “You’re desperate to touch it, aren’t you?” she mused, her clipped English accent like delicious poison to the client’s ears; she was in the room with him yet he was countless miles away, and he was a total slave to her bidding, just as he had requested. “Yes, Miss Alexa,” he said. “I was showing off my outfit and you couldn’t resist breaking the rules and sneaking a quick stroke, could you?” “Sorry Mistress, it won’t happen again.” Even with the average quality of his webcam she could see the sweat beading on his forehead, and see the tension in his sturdy jaw. Mr Friday Night – a suitable enough moniker for that was the time their sessions together always took place – was amongst the most handsome of her regular clients, well built, well dressed and well spoken, ever the gentleman when discussing his desires and furnishing payment, end ever the willing slave when he threw control over to her. This, their fifth session in as many weeks, was as smooth and enjoyable as she could ever hope for; to Mr Friday Night her character was set now, a dominating presence that forbade him from enjoying himself until she told him to. Though the scenario and costume may change and different kinks were explored, it was always very much the same: she dressed for him, humiliated him, and he relished in the joy of being verbally abused and ordered to obey. From his physical prowess and wardrobe (for he often wore a smart suit during their cam-time) she assumed he was a high-powered executive somewhere, the master of his own little world, accustomed to getting his own way. His underlying desires, however, the fantasies he so desperate wanted made reality, were so far the opposite way that he could likely not disclose them in his every day world and day-to-day life. Alexa wondered if he was married, or in a relationship that wasn’t able to provide him with fulfilment for his submissive side. That was not her business: what was her concern was making sure he got his money’s worth, and she prided herself on being the best at what she did. “Now where were we?” she pondered, then retreated from the camera, revealing herself once more, keeping her back to him as she walked, knowing he would not dare touch himself again. Mr Friday Night would see her flawlessly round buttocks, wrapped in a tight red leather skirt (which he had bought for her and had shipped out in time for their session tonight) slinking away atop her shapely legs. Calves and thighs were taut within black fishnet hold ups that traced a hypnotic criss-cross down to six inch red heels that accentuated every muscle in her heavenly pins. Above her slender waist she wore a black silk blouse that gave off a sensual sheen in the lamplight of her spotless bedroom. Her fingers and forearms were wrapped up to the elbow in red leather gloves, similarly purchased by Mr Friday Night; the thick material creaked as she flexed her fingers around the handle of the riding crop she brandished. Her outfit alternated red and black like a devilish checkerboard. Tracing the curve of her spine was her strawberry blonde hair, coiled into a sinuous, perfect plat. Her eyes glimmered from behind black-framed designer spectacles. “Thank you for spoiling your Mistress,” she purred, gently tapping the tip of the crop against her calves. She raised one leg to the bed and pivoted, thrusting the faultless peach of her bottom out so the lower curve of her cheeks emerged from beneath the leather skirt, soft white flesh visible between the garment and the ornate band of the holdups. A gloved hand squeezed the flesh, came down hard with a stinging slap that made her shiver with personal delight, and an echo of her own desires spread deep within her and was swiftly pushed away. “You wish you were here, don’t you? Spread before me so I can discipline you.” On the word ‘discipline’ she whipped the crop through the air, making a scintillating whoosh sound. “I do one-to-one sessions for only my favourite clients. I can’t decide if you would be one of the lucky few…” A look to the screen showed Mr Friday turning his face skyward as if in prayer to the heavens, begging for release. “It sounds wonderful, Miss Alexa. But…” She turned to him. “But?” As if in warning, she lightly rapped the leather tag at the end of the whip into her palm. “I don’t think my wife would approve.” Her suspicions confirmed, it didn’t change her opinion of him in the slightest; his money was good and she relied on the baser desires of men – and, indeed women – to fund her chosen line of work. She merely felt a distant pang of disappointment that she’d never be able to tend to his fantasies in person. He was handsome, and to tie him to the bed and lash him senseless would be a thrill as much to her as it would be to him. Her act held and she arched an eyebrow. “And would she really approve if she knew what you were doing right now?” “Probably not,” he laughed nervously. She rarely rose her voice or played at losing her temper (unless it was what they asked for), but she had perfected a tone of measured disdain over countless cam sessions and real-life scenarios. She employed it now. “You pathetic worm, your tastes are so appalling your wife won’t even indulge them. You come crawling to me for gratification.” She lashed the crop against the edge of her desk so hard it made Friday jump, cock bobbing, strained within its ring and seeping a distinct trickle of fluid from its swollen head. She had a profile of him in her head and knew from previous sessions what he liked, how he enjoyed being talked down to, and she incorporated this new knowledge into her ever-changing script. “Playing happy families but as soon as her back’s turned, here you are. I bet you can’t even satisfy her, that’s why you’re here with me and she’s out somewhere screwing around with a real man.” “Yes Miss Alexa, I’m your pathetic little maggot.” She placed one heel against the edge of the desk, skirt hiking up past her thighs to reveal her pussy, fully exposed to the air without panties. Her shaven cleft glistened with moisture and ready for attention. She pushed the crop against it, angling it sideways to allow its fine edge to descend a few millimetres into the tender furrow. “This is just another pussy you’ll never make your own. Never satisfy.” Alexa licked her own musky residue from the leather, shivering in delight. With her leg raised and body framed on camera from head to knee, she sank her gloved hand to her eager garden and spread her labia with a slow, teasing motion, playing the leather-padded buds of her fingertips through the shallow moisture. This is what Friday liked most of all; watching her play and bring herself to orgasm while he was powerless to do anything, then joining her in the final moments of climax. She moaned suggestively. “Oh, that’s incredible. Look at how wet I’ve made myself, you’d never be able to get me in this state, would you?” “No, Mistress Alexa,” came the distant punter’s reply. She brought the crop down across the desk again. Her attention honed onto her clitoris, working around it in tightening circles before grazing its fleshy dome. The roughness of the leather brought extra sensation and she fought to keep her knees sturdy in the face of encroaching pleasure. The nipples of her petite breasts were hard against the silk blouse, visible as distinct points through the fine material. Her voice quavered. “Are you ready, you deviant little perv?” “I am, Miss Alexa, I need to come,” he said. “Beg me,” she demanded. Whoosh-crack! A further whip of the crop. “Beg me!” “Please let me come, Miss, I’m begging you.” She waited until she was cresting her own orgasm. The dam of sensation was ready to burst, founts of joy already arcing through her. The rising power came to a head. “Come. Come now; shoot your hot load for me.” She saw him reach for his rod, and even the slightest of touches was all it took; seed spilled in a thick trickle across his cock and splashed across his thighs. As always when she reached climax on cam, she was only half able to pay attention; the mind of the character she played was with Mr Friday, but her true self was off to play in her own memories and fantasies and ideal scenarios. She rolled through beds long-since tumbled in with men whose prowess she had been floored by and gifts she had tasted; she straddled faces and was pushed against nightclub walls; wrestled into submission in the back of a police car and spanked by her favourite teacher; she was collared, cuffed and made to do the bidding of a dominant soul who was intent to violate her most tender of areas. What was reality and what was fiction didn’t matter in this moment. It was inseparable, all fodder for her pleasure. With the sensations subsiding she came fully back to the moment. On screen Mr Friday panted, sated, trying to hide the self-conscious demeanour of a man who had just climaxed for an audience he couldn’t really see and didn’t really know. “Thank you, Miss Alexa,” he managed. “Wonderful as ever.” She flexed the riding crop between both hands and became Miss Alexa once more. “You’re welcome, Mr Friday. Same time next week?” “You can count on it.” Then the call was ended from his side and she closed down the vid-chat software. With her orgasm fading, she sat on the edge of the bed and took off the heels, peeled off the gloves and tucked them away into a drawer filled with costumes, toys and other paraphernalia used during her cam sessions. It had almost become a ritual, packing away the items of her work like tidying her desk, and it was mental as well as physical; the Miss Alexa persona retreated into another part of her mind, ever prepared to return when needed. A quick check of her phone showed that Phoebe had text to say she was running a little late, but they were still to meet in the usual place. That was typically Phoebe, never quite in charge of what was going on around her. Even with Phoebe’s delay, Alexa wouldn’t have enough time to shower before their meeting, so opted to leave on the fishnets and the silk blouse, replacing the leather skirt with a knee-length denim number and slipping on a pair of her favourite boots. She swiftly removed the bl**d-red lipstick Mr Friday always insisted on and applied some subtle lip stain, applied a final spray of perfume, grabbed her handbag and jacket and was out the door and on the street before she realised she hadn’t put on panties. The last vestige of Miss Alexa whispered: Oh well, I’ve done worse and gave her cause to giggle. THAT'S THE FIRST CHAPTER! THE STORY GETS A WHOLE LOT MORE EXTREME, INCLUDING BDSM AND PEGGING! GET THE REST AT AMAZON - LINKS ON MY PROFILE