I was on all fours, naked, ass in the air, mopping up the tiles in my kitchenette. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the phone rang. He had caught me in the middle of my household chores.
I could have bet he was online, keeping a wary eye on me. Or better, ogling me lecherously. I sat back on my heels, wiped my hands on my thighs, pressed the still wet index finger on the fingerprint scanner, opened Whatsapp and found his message.
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Originally Posted by Ben
I like your new pictures. To see you pee sitting naked on a toilet seat and to see you step out of the stall still naked to wash your hands made me hard. But being on display alone is not enough. Don't get me wrong, pet, I want you to show off, but I want you also to be used. You need to be used! So, from now on, I want you to spread your legs for every guy who wants to fuck you. I want you to initiate situations that encourage guys to fuck you. I want you to wear skimpy clothes, go out, and get drunk. Every guy knows that drunken girls are easy, so flash your charms and ask them for drinks...
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Just what I needed! I furiously put the phone on the floor, drowned the rag in the cleaning bucket, rinsed it vigorously, wrung it all out - and managed to knock the bucket over. It clattered against my knees and dirty water sloshed all over my body, hit me in the chest, drenched my pussy, soaked my legs and raced across the floor tiles. I threw the rag away, duck dived under the wave and rescued the phone. Not a moment to soon. I put it on the countertop, used the rag to dry me provisorily off and busied myself with the deluged floor.
I mopped up a pool of water underneath the sink, my mind ticking away as if on autopilot. I did not like Ben's message, I did not like it at all. It was bad enough that I was the BF's toy, shown off to paying customers, but inviting any haphazard guy to use me as his fuck-doll, pretending to do it off my own bat, giving the impression that it was for my pleasure? Oh no!
On the other hand, what could I do? As long as the BF blackmailed me, there was no way out. I had to comply. That is - unless the BF didn't like Ben's orders. He commanded my obedience. Everything I did he had to approve first and usually he was not so keen on outside suggestions. With this I straightened myself, pushed my hair out of my sweaty face careful to use the backside of my wrist not to bring any aggressive cleaning agent too close to my eyes and got up. As if on cue, my phone sounded. As if he could read my mind, the BF's ringtone proclaimed, "It's a new game we like to play you see, a game with added reality..."
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Originally Posted by Master
Slut, I want you in front of your laptop in exactly one hour. On your knees, your hands behind your head, your legs spread. I want you drunk and horny, so hurry-up with your cleaning!
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I dutifully opened a bottle of prosecco, got me some of the little pink pills, washed them down with a few sips of sparkling wine, finished the kitchen, dusted the living room, vacuumed the carpets and wiped the bathroom appliances when Depeche Mode alerted me to another text message. "Domination’s the name of the game, in bed or in life, they're both the same". Sure. I knew. I still had to do the laundry.
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Originally Posted by Master
Is your Skype open? I expect you to call me as soon as I'm online. And you'd better be horny... and needing to pee...
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Since I have to be naked all the time, there's not much laundry to do. I put the few dirty clothes I had and all of my used towels in a hamper, went to the kitchen, ripped open a beer can and took a deep gulp. It foamed all over my chin, ran down my neck, my tits, my belly and my legs and finally formed a yellow puddle with white spots on the tiled floor between my feet. I laughed and finished what was left of the beer.
I dried face, hands and body with a used towel, used the same towel to wipe the floor, donned panties and a long t-shirt, found another beer, grabbed the hamper, drove the elevator down to the basement, entered the laundry room, opened the beer and took a long pull. Only then did I put the contents of the hamper in the washer, added detergent and started the machine. Watching the water pour in, I finished the can and felt giddy and light headed. I knew that all this beer would make me need to pee and that the BF would be happy to find that there was still a lot of prosecco left for our Skype session. As always he would want me to finish the bottle right before his eyes. All of a sudden I had an irrepressible urge to giggle.
Back in the flat, I made sure that all the webcams were ON. I went to the bedroom, the bathroom, the hall, the living room and the kitchenette; I even checked the cameras on the deck. They all flashed a reassuring red light - working and transmitting. The BF would have been mighty angry if I would have missed to tell him about an outage.
My iVibe waited for me in the underwear drawer. It's pink, it's soft, it's pleasing to the touch and it feels good inside. Its different positions reach from a gentle buzz to an extremely strong vibration and the wireless remote can be controlled via Skype. I shoved the egg into my pussy, turned the laptop on, connected the USB device, activated the "Remote Pleasure" program and pressed the remote's “Mode/On” button. A window popped up and asked me if I was sure that I wanted to pass control to somebody on the net. I dutifully clicked "OK". A prompt advised me to open Skype. I did and was greeted by another popup window. I selected “Allow access”. The window closed and the egg started to vibrate.
Now was the time for more prosecco. I poured a stylish flute, took a big sip and started to play with my clit. My fingertips were still crinkled and numb from all the cleaning agent, but I did not take long to reach a first edge. I leaned back, folded my hands behind my neck and concentrated on the insistent hum of the vibe, holding the edge as long as I could. I was wet, horny and a good girl....