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Monday, February 10, 2014

Remote control...

The power of technology... The 21st century has brought a multitude of media to allow us to indulge our fantasies... It set me thinking of a little scene, just how powerful could technology really be...


The Benwa push on my cervix, deep inside me, my other hand tightly clutching my mobile phone, anxiously waiting for the next command to come through. I've turned the volume on the ringtone up high so I don't miss a command... it seems ridiculous, hanging on ever message from him, but I do...
"Come for me"
The phone vibrates and my body surrenders yet again... four? five? six? My exhausted gasping as I recover from my orgasm distracts me from the total. It's irrelevant anyway, he would know... I can picture his smile as he types out each instruction, detailing each task, controlling me from afar, commanding me as if by remote control...
I lie there basking in my orgasm as I remember his first command as I leave work...
"Lay out your lingerie for this evening, and choose it for me, not you."
And so, I quickly search through my underwear drawers, selecting coordinating panties and stockings... I omit the bra as I know that he prefers my breasts to be free of constraints, free for him to bind, to kiss, and caress, to torture as he pleases...
I take a photo of the garments, email them to him, draw a hot bath, then follow his next command...
"When you've set the bath running, crawl on all fours, and collect your benwa, insert them deep for me girl, make sure they rest so deliciously on you g-spot... Just as I place them in you..."
I fall to my knees at my bedside table, hardly worthy of worship, but his words mean everything to me... A bedside table, his feet... both are as sacred when they have a meaning indescribable... so deeply ingrained inside me that obedience is something that comes utterly without thought... I look at the pink plastic objects jiggling seductively in my palms, and smile, slipping them gently, and slowly deep between my wet, swollen lips, further still, deeper inside my aching core... I whimper an angst filled sigh as I screw my eyes tightly shut, biting my lip to stifle the cry of his name as it falls without thought from my lips... Controlling me even still... is he even thinking of me? Or is he in a meeting? Is he working on a presentation to win a new prestigious project? Or is he sitting in his deep leather armchair, a peaty whiskey cradled preciously in his hand, watching the crackling open fire... imagining just what his girl is doing for love of him...
Sinking into my bath, I forget the world for 30 minutes... his command, to cleanse my body of the days's stresses... to purify... to shed the cares and worries... so that my mind... may be entirely his...
"Such a good girl... Now... Dry yourself and dress for me... lie on your back on the floor in the lounge..."
I rush to dry myself, the coarse towel I picked causing my skin to become bright red as I rub it hard against my flesh... I catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror... my cheeks flushed, my eyes bright... I consider that I have never looked so youthful... beautiful? My breasts firm, round, my nipples hard and red, begging to be kissed, nibbled... I look on in awe... can words from afar create such a physical response?
Another buzz from my phone interrupts my reverie...
"Take your most powerful vibe and push your benwa deep with it, feel the sensation... lose yourself..."
And so here I am... lost in overwhelming pleasure... desperately clutching my mobile phone as if my life depended on it... My mind focussed on a man... miles and miles away whom I have no idea whether he cares if I follow his commands or not... who is controlling me by words alone...
By remote control...

1 comment:

  1. Remote control sex

    I just loved this post by Tessa Wanton. It pleased my raw arousal needs, and it made me wonder, how could it satisfy my emotional intimacy needs? I thought of this storyline, plot holes and all.

    I pictured a young couple, the boy responding to a military draft.

    He tells her beloved, "I know we can't afford to pay for long distance calls, so I'll call you with a personal ringtone to let you know that you don't need to answer. Whenever you hear it, it'll be my way of saying, I'm okay, I'm still alive, and most of all, I love you."

    He stands beside her, calls her cell phone from his, and her phone rings three tones: short, short, long. Ring, ring, riiiiiing.

    They kiss goodbye and everyday in the early evening she hears her phone ring and feels it vibrate, ring, ring, riiiiiing. Ring, ring, riiiiiing. As if to say, I love yooouuu. I love yooouuu.

    She needs him closer, aches for his touch. She has the idea of setting the phone to silently vibrate, and tapes it to her underwear.

    One evening, she's in the middle of grocery shopping. Reaching for a can of peaches, she feels him calling. I love yooouuu. I love yooouuu. Her legs grow weak at his call. The ring continues, longer than usual. I love yooouuu. I love yooouuu.

    She collapses to the floor, too weak to stand, and not caring about the looks she's getting around her. She still clutches the can of peaches in one hand, and uses the other to press him closer. As she cups the front of her dress in her hands, she feels the moisture seep through, and she realizes his words have changed. They now match her own. I miss yooouuu. I miss yooouuu.

    She whimpers. A woman crouches behind her to see if she's okay. She waves her away. "I'm fine. Leave me alone." The nearby group of onlookers disperses, but the heat she feels grows stronger. I miss yooouuu. I miss yooouuu. Feeling his call against her skin, she is connected to him once again. He is with her. He loves her. He misses her.

    Just a little longer and she knows she can quench the fire that's been building all these weeks that he's been away. The words change once again. She knows it. She can hear his voice in her head. She can feel him between her legs. He is saying, come for meeeeee. Come for meeeeee.

    And she does.

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