Last night I was working pretty late. I had my Trillian running at unusual hours, which is what attracted the attention of an old flame of mine. We had a great relationship but the usual demons of distance, her boyfriend and her future ended it. We stay in touch but we had moved into friendship instead of naked lust. She sent me a message and we chatted off and on during my work.
After a few idle exchanges, she told me she was going to masturbate now and did I have any inspiration for her?
Damn. There was a time when she would have begged me for permission to masturbate. Earlier than that, there was a time when she was incapable of even mentioning her own pleasure out loud. By the time our relationship was over not only was she talking about her pleasure, she was begging for it on the phone and performing for me on her webcam. She was a shy insecure woman who blossomed into something pretty damn special. I’m emotionally proud of her for becoming what she wanted, but I also feel a pang that I don’t get to physically benefit more from it. The saint in me is glad to have helped her but the selfish dom in me wants to claim what I planted in her.
I typed back to her. “Imagine yourself under my desk. I’m still working but I have you sucking my cock. I’m twisting your hair with my free hand till tears run down your face. The only pleasure you get is what you can attain from humping my foot. Through out it all, I’m threatening you that if you don’t suck well, I’ll break out the nasty painful paddle you fear so much.”
It wasn’t a great fantasy but it was an old one. It’s one we had talked about before. I didn’t need to say more because the memory of what we had fills in the blanks. Also, I think there is something inherently special in doing someone else’s fantasy. It doesn’t have to be creative or unique, it just had to be something she didn’t think of. It has to be something I want her to do so that she could derive pleasure from doing it for me.
So off she went and back to work went I. In the old days I would have insisted on a thank you note. Now I have to content myself with a memory and the knowledge that for one more night, she submitted to be a character in a very short story I wrote for her.