But tonight, our interaction would be give and take—a conversation. And even if he used “old tricks,” he probably wouldn’t be reading from a script, though he did seem organized and so serious about training that I wouldn’t put it past him to refer to a set of notes.

Tonight I would hear his voice for the first time. He would become a real person to me. Like Pinocchio becoming a real boy, he would transform from a cold, wooden voice on the other end of a cyber-connection into a flesh-and-blood man, at least as far as my ears were concerned. The prospect both thrilled me and made me want to vomit.

The whale-call sound of Skype broke me of my reverie. I took a gulp of air and clicked the cursor to “answer” with my already-sweaty finger.

“Hello?” I squeaked.

“Sophie?” he asked. His voice was low and gravelly, not unlike what I’d expected.

“Yes?” I took another deep breath and straightened, trying to harness a confidence I didn’t actually possess.

“Are you prepared for our session? Did you do everything I asked?” He sounded angry, as though he expected me to answer “no” and was ready to punish me for it.”

“Yes,” I managed.

“Yes, sir,” he snarled, and I could have kicked myself for forgetting, but he’d gotten me frazzled.

“Yes, sir.”

“Grab your spatula and smack that ass with it.”

I picked up the black rubber spatula with the open slits running down the middle and whacked my backside with it. “Yes, sir.”

“Count.”

“How high?”

“Just count each time you smack that ass. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

“Do I start with ‘one’ or ‘two’ since I already did one?” His clipped tone had me so flustered I wasn’t sure what to do.

“Begin again. Start with one and make it loud enough for me to hear.”

“One.” I struck my rear end with the spatula.

“Louder!”

“Two.” I did this one harder. “Is that better?”

“Is that better, sir,” he corrected. “Harder!”

I whimpered. “Sorry, sir. Three.” I hit myself with significantly more force this time, and it really hurt. Involuntarily, I drew in a quick breath, giving him an audible cue to my reaction to the pain.

“That’s a good girl.” The words dripped from his lips like the sweetest honey, and my cunt creamed. I closed my eyes and shivered. That was what I wanted, what I craved—his approval. Him telling me I was a good girl. It spoke to something deep inside me, and I knew then that I would do anything this man asked.

“Keep going.”

I jarred myself from my lusty daze and kept spanking myself, each time verbalizing a number, in the back of my mind praying I wouldn’t lose count.

When I got to ten, he said, “Good girl. Now straddle that cock and ride it.”

I was wet enough that I parted my legs, sat down with my lips hovering over it, and the dildo slid inside me relatively easily. My ass landed on the pillow and I was filled with a cock. I closed my eyes and almost forgot that it was made of rubber.

“Grab the two forks. One in each hand.”

“Yes, sir.” I bent at the waist and picked them up. The stainless steel felt cool in my already sweaty palms.

“Start with the sides of your thighs and rake the tines of the forks over your skin. One against each leg. Make your strokes slow and deliberate.”

I did as he asked, tracing the pointed edges of the forks against the outsides of my thighs, letting a light “mmm” escape my lips.

“Good. Now open those fucking legs and rake them across your inner thighs. From your knees up. Almost to your cunt, but don’t touch it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep fucking that cock. Raise and lower yourself onto it. Do you hear me?” His voice held a menacing tone that sent a fresh batch of shivers dancing up my spine.

“Yes, sir. I am.” My clit throbbed. I wanted to touch it, grind against something. The scraping with the forks had awakened another set of nerve endings, and my skin tingled.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

“I like it.”

“Good. Now keep fucking that cock and take the tines of the fork and dig them into your nipples.”

“Yes, sir.” Tentatively, I pressed the end of the fork into my nipples, which were hard as could be. The sensation was surprisingly good. It felt strange to stab my sensitive little buds, but pleasant in a thrillingly-perverse kind of way.

“Dig those forks into those nipples. Dig them in good!” His tone was intense. Forceful.

I did as he said, the combination of pleasure and pain coursing through my chest like a current of electricity.

“Now twist them.”

“What?”

“Dig them in and twist the forks, Sophie. Do it, girl!”

I complied, and as I twisted the forks, a bitingly-delicious feeling crept over me. “Ohhh!” I moaned. That combination of ouch and oooh was intoxicating.

“Now let go.”

Reluctantly I did so, but I wanted more. Gone was the anxiety I’d felt earlier. That had been replaced by pure lust. A sheen of perspiration glistened on my skin and I continued to ride my kinky homemade hobby horse.

“Slip a couple of elastic bands around your wrist.”

“Yes, sir.” Coming back to earth for a second, I hunted around on the bedspread for those elastic bands. I knew I’d put them somewhere on there. I hated to upset him by not having the materials at hand I was supposed to. Sliding them over my hands onto my wrists, I muttered, “Okay.”

“Pull the band back then let it go, snapping your wrist.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, snapping the elastics on the thin skin around my wrist.

“I said snap it. I want to hear it.”

“Sorry, sir.” Exhaling I pulled the band back farther and let it zing toward my wrist, making a louder “pop” and leaving my skin smarting.

“Good girl. Do that one at a time to each wrist five times for a total of ten times. After each one I want you to say, ‘Thank you, sir.’ ”

I steeled myself for the pain. “Yes, sir.” I snapped, then said, “Thank you, sir.” I did this nine more times. By the end, my wrists were noticeably stinging, but with the repetition I’d lulled myself into a dizzy state of resigned arousal. On one hand I wanted to play with myself, to climax, but that desire had been overtaken by my desire to carry out his instructions, to please him.

“Now sit down on the chair, with that cock buried deep inside you. Can you do that?”

I sank onto the pillow, still stuffed with the rubber dildo. “Mmm hmm.” Then I caught myself and quickly corrected my mistake. “I’m sorry. I mean yes, sir.”

“That’s better,” he said, acknowledging my faux pas. “Pick up one of the forks and scrape it across your little clit. In fact, use your other hand to pull back the skin around it. Let that little nub out to play.”

Something in my stomach lurched, and I swallowed hard. A tingling started in my shoulders that culminated in my hands starting to shake. Suddenly my mouth was dry as cotton. “Sir,” I managed but couldn’t get any further.

This was too much. That was going too far. I don’t know why that felt like a line not to cross, but he was asking me to expose myself in every conceivable way, and now he was asking me to literally peel back the layers of protection that led directly to my very core. To the most intimate part of my entire body and scrape it with a common eating utensil. Like I was some sort of animal in a lab experiment. All of a sudden I wanted to scurry away and disappear.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I might have wanted to run away, but I didn’t.

I considered hanging up. I could have pressed one button, disconnecting our conversation, and I’d never have to talk with MC again. It would be easy. I’d never run into him at the grocery store or at work. I could simply refuse to answer his emails, ignore his texts.

But the thought of that made my stomach lurch harder.

I’d never be able to do that.