I don’t usually start the sexy chat right after starting talking to a Tinder match and still less often find myself how to indulge a woman’s passion for pain but right now it was looking like I was going to be spending by evening learning on the hoof how turn a woman on using BDSM sexting..
She had called me back, ready for the S&M sexting we had set up just before (you can read about part 1 here). Her voice was thick with expectation and hope that I was going to provide her with a suitably pleasurable (and painful) experience.
The question that had been briefly running through my mind was: how do you inflict virtual punishment on a slave who you’ve never met and who is located 150 miles away in another country in the middle of a lockdown?
In my case it was to be a learning experience – I’ve never had a girlfriend who has confessed to anything more masochistic than a vague liking for being spanked — something she wasn’t sufficiently into to ever let it get beyond a slight reddening of the cheeks when we were messing around pre-sex.
It was to be an interesting conundrum and a slightly intimidating one – I’d set myself up as an expert at indulging masochistic fantasies but apart from crediting myself with a very fertile imagination (and a slightly perverse, contrary character) I wondered if I was up to it.
An embarrassment of embarrassments
“Ok,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. “I’m going to give you a safe word in case this is too much for you. Repeat it back to me.”
She repeated it back to me.
“Are there any obvious limits you want to avoid before we carry on?”
She laughed in disbelief. “I really can’t believe I’m doing this. We’ve only been speaking for about half an hour.”
“And?”
“Just go for it. Don’t hold back.”
“Ok.” I paused. “Stand up and tell me what you’re wearing.”
She described her outerwear. “Take it off.”
“Done,” she said.
Now describe your underwear.
She described it. This was sexy. I was getting turned on.
“Take off your underwear.”
“Done.”
“Describe your tits to me.“
She did.
“Now describe your pussy.”
She paused. “I don’t really know what to say.”
“Use your imagination. All pussies don’t look alike. Is it shaved? What are the labia like?”
She described her pussy
Smells like victory
“What does it smell like?”
“Good. Really good.“
“Like what?”
“Like wet pussy.”
“So you’re wet?”
“Yes.”
I saw a chance to play up by bad persona. “Who said you could get wet?”
She was silent
“Okay you little slut I’m going to have to deal with you.”
“How?” I didn’t think I’d ever heard a woman’s voice sound so excited. This in turn made me excited and feel more confident I was on the right track. I figured that for the time being the suggestion of pain would be enough to keep her turned on. And as it wasn’t going to be something I would actually have to due to her I could make it as brutal as I liked.
But first I thought it would be interesting to see just how far I could push the slavery aspect.
Photo time
“You’re getting wet even just by me asking you to strip off. We’re going to do something to sort you out. But before we do anything else I need some verification. I need to see a photo to show me how wet you are.”
“No way,” she said, her voice suddenly determined. “That is absolutely not going to happen.”
“Who is in charge here. Who are you to tell me what is going to happen or not going to happen. Get your phone out and take a photo of your pussy.”
“No!”
She sounded really serious about her refusal so I retreated. But I realised she sounded disappointed. She sounded like she really wanted me to insist that she send me a nude photo.
And that really figured. I sensed that what she wanted was to put up a genuine, realistic show of disobedience and for me to overcome it.
And it’s difficult for a guy like me, who reads about consent every week to apparently steamroller over that consent by insisting she send me a nude photo of herself.
I held back for a minute then a compromise occurred to me.
“You do remember you have a safe word?”
“Yes,” she said.
“So send me a picture of your pussy now.”
“No,” she repeated.
Decisions, indecisions
We were at something of an impasse. Did she really not want to send me a nude picture of herself or if she secretly did and was just waiting for me to overpower her objections in a sufficiently inventive and compelling fashion?
Should I be Mr Nice Guy and respect her overt wishes or should I push for her to reveal what I suspected lay below them?
I decided that explicitly sadistic threats had worked before with her and they might work again this time.
“You’re lucky I’m not there. Do you know what I would do if I was right there with you?”
“What would you do?”
I could tell immediately from the excitement in her voice that this was what she wanted – I decided to give her some details – excruciating details.
Imaginary surgical instruments
“I have this little vice which I use for DIY projects (I actually don’t have a vice at all – or do DIY). I think your nipples would fit very nicely in it.”
I imagined that might call me a sicko, that I might really have gone too far now and she might just hang up on me.
Instead she shuddered with apparent pleasure.
“How much would you tighten it?”
“How much?” I pondered what might exactly happened in this situation. “Well at first only a little bit but you would definitely feel discomfort.”
“Oh,” she said. Of course I had bargained for her to feel let down.
“But then I’d tighten it a bit more.”
Immediately her tone brightened. “Yes?”
“Yeah I’d tighten it until you’re begging me to let me suck my dick.”
“I would beg you,” she said.
“It would be too late,” I said. “I would continue tightening it until your nipples are mashed up, unrecognisable pieces of meat.”
She let out a long, lustful sigh. There was no doubt that the strong stuff was what she wanted.
I decided to go one step further.
“I also have some surgical instruments which I think might change your disobedient ways (of course I don’t actually have these either).”
“Really?” This seem to be especially exciting to her. Tell me what you would do with them.
I sipped my coffee and started riffing on generically about how I would hurt her so bad.
But I realized this wasn’t really what she wanted. What she wanted was to know exactly where I would cut her in our imaginary scenario and how deep.
So I gave her what she wanted.
I told her in extravagant detail what I would do with the scalpel and how much it would hurt her and how much I would love it.
She shuddered again. “Oh god!”
It’s all coming good
The line went dead. I sat there hoping I hadn’t gone too far. She called back a minute later. This time it was a video call.
“I had to masturbate,” she said. Her tone told me it was time to step out of the scenario.
“Did you come?”
“Oh God yes,” she said. It turned out this was the second time she had orgasmed during our chat.
I felt bashfully pleased. For me it had been a new and tricky situation in some respects and I was glad it had worked out.
“You are good at this,” she said. “Really good. You have a really deviant imagination.”
In future days (and later that evening) we would put my deviant imagination more to the test.
To be continued.
By Max
