My husband and I are still separated by distance as we attempt to repair our relationship, but we see each other on weekends, with phone and video calls getting us through the rest of the week. I requested he make me a video of himself masturbating so I could watch it during horny or missing moments.
He gave me a live show from the shower, his body soapy and slick as he ran his hands up and down over his skin, and stroked himself. My fingers drifted to the passion his vision created; I made sure he could see exactly what he inspired. We masturbated together.
When we were done, I again reminded about wanting the video. He told me he would (and did later that night), but that I needed to also make him a video by the next day.
We are already getting right back into the power dynamics, apparently, as he knew that making a video would be a challenge for me, so warned that there was a consequence if I didn’t. Unfortunately, not because I hesitated but just because I was busy that following day – I forgot.
I thought it was just a live show I put on for him as punishment, I was wrong…
He told me to lay a few out of my sexier (what he considered sexy, not me, learning from last time) clothes, take a picture, and he would decide what I was wearing. This was my first clue that he would be completely in charge and I was to have no say. Next, I did the same of my lingerie including stockings, then of the Doxy wand’s attachments. When he received all the pictures, he gave me a detailed list of items to have readily available and what to wear: lingerie under clothes, stockings, vibrator, wand with attachment.
I already strongly disliked this punishment, already it was more effort than just sending a video would have been.
When he called me that night, he told me to pick out music and strip dance, but to keep on the lingerie. Ugh, I didn’t want to move to music while he watched live, I couldn’t hit delete if I looked like an idiot. I’m sure I looked like a deer in the headlights as I slowly peeled out of the outer clothes.
He wasn’t messing around with the whole punishment concept either, as the next order was to play with myself – already not an easy task with an audience. He was specific with giving him a teasing view of my breasts as I caressed them still wearing the silky lingerie, of lifting the bottom of the fabric with one hand as my other hand’s fingers teased and felt my wetness despite my embarrassment. “Insert one finger,” he would occasionally stroke himself so I was aware of his reaction to his show, “add another one.” I was a puppet, his to command. “Go deeper.” “Watch my fingers,” and he would curl and stroke the air the way he wanted my fingers to move deep in my own body. The man sure did know how I liked to be fingered, and I begged to cum, though he stopped me before I reached climax.
“Edge yourself with the wand,” I hesitated and he gave me a look that brook no argument. He wanted me to lay it on the bed and straddle it, in essence riding it. The attachment was already on and I slid my body on top of it. He wanted me to start on low and the vibrations felt so amazing to my already worked body. He told me to pinch at my nipples as I felt the pleasure between my thighs, and slowly he added another speed, eventually bringing the wand to high, commanding me to with hold from an orgasm – I pleaded with him to change his mind and give me some release. When I became far too overwhelmed and couldn’t resist, I jumped off of it, my chest heaving from the effort, beginning to sweat from the tension. He praised me, had me slowly and gently caress my body through the silky lingerie, and then edge myself again with the wand. I must’ve given him a look, because he followed through with a threat, and I begrudgingly straddled the toy again, immediately asking for an orgasm. Much quicker this time, I jumped off it, an orgasm threatening my overworked body.
My fingers would eventually be called on to bring me to an orgasm, again he set the tempo and the motion of how I was finger myself, promising that I would finally find my pleasure. I was to lay on the bed, my stocking legs spread to give him the best view, leaning up on one elbow so he could view my face. “Harder,” he would urge, “really fuck yourself,” and, “you can go deeper… you won’t be allowed to cum unless you really give it your best effort,” finally followed by the order, “cum”. Oh how my body and mind remember that word uttered from his mouth. The sound traveled across miles, from one receiver to another, and hit my body like thunder. I squirted, my fingers and wrist coated from the force, the bottom of my lingerie and the bed catching the drops of the tensioned storm.
I was gasping for breaths, great heaving intakes as if I had run the vast distance to him.
But this wasn’t the finale I thought it was, oh no! He had already pushed so many comfort zones in this punishment, already assured us both that I wouldn’t forget so easily next time, but he wasn’t done yet with me.