For Mistress by Tyson

For my Mistress
Tyson

Sitting at my computer, an ocean separating us. It may as well be a universe, it's hard for me at the best of times. Especially knowing you are there, often sitting there wearing only panties and t-shirt. Knowing you are wet and dripping with juices I would give anything to taste.

But then on top of this you paint a picture of yourself and a female submissive, both naked dripping and moaning, it is more than I can bare.

Hearing you describe laying her naked body lay over your lap. Her arse cheeks facing up to you, vulnerable and waiting to be given a glowing red tint. You sliding your fingers between her legs, gently rubbing along her soft, moist cunt as she moans with pleasure knowing at any time your open palm will come crashing down on her cheeks.

To hear these things and have my cock twitching and dripping, every muscle in my tortured body contracting from lust and desire. But not be given the command I ache to hear. To not hear that one word delivered in the devious erotic tone that only you can do. I am sitting here at my computer, but in my mind I am caged, locked and tied so that my hands are just close enough to my swollen cock that I can almost feel them wrapped around it. So close and yet so far.

Begging you with tear filled eyes and my tortured moans to say it, “Please my Mistress, please, tell me to do it” your eyes glittering with an evil expression as you chuckle and mock me. Patronizingly asking “What’s wrong my boy?” as you move her to you on her knees, grip her by the hair and bury her face into your soaking wet cunt. You gasp as she finds you sensitive clit, followed by your trademark giggle knowing that I’m in an agony and that you could stop it simply by saying “stroke” combined with the amazing feeling of your girl between your thighs thrusting you over the edge into consecutive earth trembling orgasms.

You look over at me and know that your plan could not have worked better. You know you have me in the palm of your hand. A powerless, broken, boy that you can mold and twist in any manner you desire. Grinning wickedly admiring your work you open your mouth to speak what I hope is the word I’ve been longing to hear and say commandingly “Mine”.