From the message you sent me, now I know who you are.
And who you are, I decide that now — from tonight. You’ll do what I say. You’ll obey me — in everything, the way I say it, when I say it. Because if you don’t obey, I don’t fuck you. And you can’t go without it anymore.
You crossed the line the first time you wrote to me instead of turning toward him. Now you’re on the other side. And on this side, shame isn’t enough to keep you quiet: it’s the reckless things you do for me that carry you further, deeper, every time.
Go to the bathroom. I don’t care what you’re doing — drop it. Dinner’s in the oven, you’ve got a few minutes, and those minutes are mine.
Sit down. Open them, those legs. Touch yourself — slow at first, then harder. Fingers on your cunt, pressing where you know, rubbing and never stopping. And I want to see it: film it for me. Not your face. Just your legs open, just your fingers working your clit, just you giving in one inch at a time.
Good girl. Like that.
Come. Now, while out there it’s his house, his dinner, his evening. Come on those fingers, for me.
And when you go back out, no underwear. You sit down next to him with your cunt still wet, and you stay like that all night. He looks at you and he has no idea that you, right now, aren’t here anymore. You’re where I tell you to be.
Tomorrow morning, when you’re alone in the house, open that drawer.
You know which one. Take the vibrator, turn it on. But not where you want it — not yet. No rush. Today I decide the time. First bring it to your mouth. Suck it, run it around your tongue, wet it like it’s mine. Then let it fall lower, that humming tip: between your breasts, slowly, over your belly, further down with every breath.
And call me while you do it.
I want to hear you. Not the words — the breath. I want to hear you breathe harder as you bring it between your thighs, I want the gasp that slips out when you press it against your cunt and realize you won’t turn it off until I say so. Do it for me. Only for me, in that house that’s his, with my voice in your ear.
And when you come, I want to hear it. All of it.
Tomorrow, go out. The supermarket, the one where they know you, where they always see you with him.
No bra. No panties. Just the dress on your skin, and underneath only what I decided you’d wear — nothing. I want you walking the aisles knowing you’re naked under the fabric, and no one knows but you. And me.
I want them to look at you. All of them. I want them to turn, the men to follow you with their eyes without understanding why, to go hard at the bread counter without knowing the reason. I want you walking among them like the most wanted thing in the room — because you are. You’re mine. My need to come has taken your shape.
Let them admire it, that perfect, sculpted ass. They can look all they want.
But it’s mine. All mine.
Tonight, I want you on all fours. Pull your panties down, and with both hands spread yourself open — show him the little hole, the one you’ve given only to him and to one other. To let him empty himself, to fill you up. Let yourself be used. With a condom, with the gel, like that. And while you do it, close your eyes: that way you can imagine it’s me.
And tonight — if you’ve been a good girl — I come for you.
I tie a leash around your neck, the kind for dogs, and I put you on all fours. First you lick my cock, take it down your throat, and I don’t let you breathe until you gag. Then I take you by the neck and I fuck you raw, all the way in, full strokes, complete — I’ll never forget those breaths of yours. The way I’ll never forget your cunt, the one I want to devour while you come on my tongue.
Were you a good girl?
I know your hand is already between your legs. It was there before you even started reading.