7 Steps To Hell

Sam relaxed a little. He'd run out of washing up liquid, and a few other household items. He wondered whether he could drive to the supermarket and return by 2 PM. He was now no longer anxious about being able to "present" himself for each photo, but he now considered the logistical problem, being somewhere private on the hour, every hour. He didn't feel that he needed to be cooped up at home the whole time. He decided to risk the drive to the supermarket. He misjudged the timing by a few minutes: At 13:55 he had to park his car in a quiet residential street some way from his home: Anywhere closer was too busy with pedestrians and other cars. He took out his dick and pummelled it quickly. He got a semi, but that wouldn't be good enough. He closed his eyes, imagining Elena's cruel laugh at his failure to get hard - which duly got him hard. Still seated in his car, he clenched his buttocks to push out his groin, snapped a blurred but identifiable picture of his hard-on and sent it to her.

"2 - But I'm not sure if it's yours lol".

Sam played it safe and spent the rest of afternoon at home, watching old 70's US cop shows on TV. He'd set his phone to sound an alarm at two minutes before each hour, which gave him plenty of time: He was confident that he now required only a few seconds to get hard. In fact his background level of sexual arousal was almost too high: If he allowed a single lapse in his attention from Lt. Columbo's laconic sleuthing, then Sam's mind would wander. He'd see Elena's dangling shoe in his mind's eye, hear her sexy crooning voice teasing him, and his balls would churn. He began to get an inkling that the game might turn out to be harder than he'd anticipated.

At three, four and five PM, Sam sent Elena pretty much identical pictures each time. He was now permanently semi-aroused. Sam's balls now ached too much for him to wear any pants, so he just kept his tee-shirt on.

He was part-way through boiling some pasta when the alarm for his six PM 'photo-shoot' went off on his phone. His dick responded to the alarm immediately, like Pavlov's dog, bouncing to attention.

He sent the picture, along with a message. "My balls are aching sooo much lol".

Her response was, "I give you permission to cum. 6"

He hadn't assumed he needed her permission; he hadn't meant his last comment to be a hint. In fact he doubted whether masturbating would make things easier for him; he needed to maintain his libido. But his balls were getting so painful he was now dousing them with cold tap-water. He decided that a wank would, after all, be the right thing to do.

It took about two strokes before white, thick jizz leaked out of his dick and trickled over his knuckles. His dick subsided. He hadn't actually cum, but at least the pain in his balls eased somewhat.

The unsatisfactory orgasm deflated his mood as well as his dick. He decided to nip into his local pub for a pint and forget about the game for a while.

At five to seven, Sam hurried out of the pub and returned home. He slammed the front door and pushed his pants down. His dick looked small, almost like it was sulking at him. "I know. I know. It's my fault, I got us into this," he said to it. He pushed his hand into his mouth and wiggled his fingers, imagining they were Elena's toes. That did the trick. He withdrew his hand from his mouth long enough to say to his dick "Good Boy," and took a picture of himself in the hallway mirror.

"7. Good Boy" and a smiley emoji, echoed her WhatsApp reply.

At seven thirty, while he was in his kitchen, she video called him. She was in her bedroom studio, dressed in her "work" outfit, which today was a tight white mini dress with a deep cleavage. Her legs were bare. She wore his favourite pair of heels on her feet, her Louboutin 'Pigalle' black patent-leather pumps.

"How is my Good Boy today? Suffering yet?"

Sam nodded.

"It will become worse. Show me your hard dick."

He aimed his phone camera at his dick. It was, indeed, rock hard.

"Keep it pointing there. I will give your dick a reward, because you are doing so well." And she slowly moved her phone close to her red, full lips... her wet tongue protruded, and a bead of saliva slowly trickled from her lower lip. As it collected into a droplet and fell from her lip, Sam's dick bounced in response, as though she had drooled saliva onto its tip. Elena held up a playful 'fuck you' middle finger to him, and then slid it slowly into her mouth. She plunged it smoothly in and out, in and out...

"That's right. Imagine, my weak Sammy, my wet red lips around your dick, always hard for me. Say you love me."

"I love you. Oh my God..."

"Start stroking. And say it, over and over."

"I love you. I love you... I love you... Oh God..."

He spurted, four times, onto the floor.

"Say 'Thank You'."

"Thank you."

"Good boy. Now you should drink coffee. I see behind you that you bought some. I will be busy online now, so I won't send you messages until much later. But remember I can see the time of your messages, so you can't cheat. Okay?"

"Okay."

From eight PM until midnight Sam lay sullenly in front of the TV. He had the news channel on but wasn't really watching. Time passed very slowly. He now had to avoid thinking about her until two minutes before each hour, because otherwise he'd get crazy and he'd have to masturbate. As she had warned him, she wasn't responding after he sent the pictures. That made it ever so slightly easier for him, so that by midnight he felt in better control of himself.

By 2:30 AM he started to feel sleepy, but also speedy from the caffeine.

Shortly after his 3 AM picture, he dozed. But when he was awoken at 3:58 AM by his alarm, his dick was already hard - it had learned its timetable.

He slept fitfully through the night, punctuated by the hourly alarm. Sleep offered no respite, and when awake he was confused and hallucinated flashing lights at the periphery of his vision like at the onset of a migraine. This was the main purpose behind Elena's "game" - to unhinge his mind and senses through sleep deprivation.

At six AM it was light. Elena still hadn't responded to any of his pictures.

Sam automatically took a photo of his dick and sent it. He got out of bed, and brushed his teeth, eying in the mirror his still semi-erect dick. He doused it with cold water to help it become flaccid enough so that he could pee. He didn't feel like any breakfast - he felt queasy. He plodded back to bed, opened his curtains to let in the grey dawn. Elena entered his bedroom. She was wearing the leather coat he'd bought for her.

"Nice surprise?" She asked him, as she peeled it off and threw it onto a chair. She was naked.

"Very nice."

"Now I'm always with you. Always making you hard. Always wanting your Goddess."

"Yes."

"I knew from the beginning that you were not a normal slave. You were like me; you wanted a real lifestyle. You were looking for someone you could love."

Sam was about to agree, when his 6:58 alarm went off. He was alone. A tear welled in his eye, and precum glistened on his dick.

She returned to him a few minutes later, with a bottle of suntan oil, which she handed to him wordlessly. She lay down on the bed next him, on her front, and picked up his phone.

"I see you set an alarm. You don't need it. I'm turning it off."

Sam poured oil onto his hands and began to massage the back of her thighs.

"This is your online banking app?" She asked, holding up the phone for him to see, but without bothering to turn around.

"Yes."

"Password?"

Sam told her his password.

"Feet." Sam pressed his oily thumbs into the arches of her feet. He clasped his palms around her heels and stroked her ankle bones.

"My feet own you. Rub them. Worship them."

Sam continued, lovingly massaging each toe... he lost track of time...

Time. He sat up with a start. It was a minute past eight, and his alarm hadn't gone off. His scrambled for his phone and sent off a picture just in time.

Sam knelt naked before Elena as she sat above him on her raised throne, smoking, and drumming her fingers impatiently on the gilt and velvet armrest. She turned to one of her maidservants. "Shave his head, I wish to use it as a footrest." The maidservant approached Sam with her electric clippers. He felt the vibration on his scalp and watched the clumps of his hair fall to the tiled floor about him.

"Stand." Sam stood, head bowed, and Goddess Elena took a photo of his dick. "Twenty-one. Good boy."

"Thank You," he mumbled.

"How are your balls, Sammy?" Sam was confused. Was that Elena speaking to him, or was she sending him a WhatsApp message?

After a few seconds he regained consciousness and realised that he was still in his bedroom, and that they were video chatting on WhatsApp.

"My balls?"

"Ah, I'm sorry, I woke you, my sleepy slave. Didn't you drink enough coffee?"

"Yes. Maybe not enough. My balls are in pain."

"You see, it's difficult, this game. But you have only three more hours now, before your reward. Go make some coffee. And stay hard for your Goddess."

"Okay."

The day bustled like any other workday: Birds loudly claimed their territories in the suburban gardens outside Sam's bedroom window, rubbish vans roared and noisily devoured the garbage in their metal maws, Deliveroo mopeds buzzed like angry wasps. The commuter trains were emptier now, its occupants able to find seats where they could read the about the latest Brexit drama and gossip about it on their phones. And Sam sat at his kitchen table, an ice cube melting under his perineum, his mind empty, his dick limp, his eyes staring blankly at the fridge magnets. It was eight minutes past noon, and his phone was buzzing, for the fifth time.

Finally he stirred and read Elena's messages. He'd done it. His reward was to be allowed to meet her in real life -- she was coming to London for a week. She'd say more tomorrow. Meanwhile, if he wanted, he could see all the pictures he'd sent her -- she'd posted every one of the them on her Twitter feed.

Step Six: Cold Feet

Sam could tell that he was no longer quite the same after the game. His mind dwelled less than previously on Elena, at least consciously, in spite of her bombshell announcement that she was soon to visit him. After a good nights' sleep, he actually felt surprisingly clear headed. So when, at ten AM the following morning, he received a video call from her while he was at work, he felt calm and strangely dispassionate. He kicked the door of his office shut, a sign to his subordinates that he was not to be disturbed, and sat back in his big high-backed chair, swinging it gently from side to side.

"I see you're in your big office again, my big boss slave. You are the master there, but a slave when you're with me."

Sam felt a tingling in his spine, and he felt a rush of sexual arousal. "Wow. Weird."

Elena knew: "It's different now, with me, eh?"

"Yes. Like, I don't know..."

"Like I am inside your head. This game, it has conditioned you. I warned you."

"Elena, what do you want from me? I don't understand why you do this. These power games. You told me it's not just for money. I didn't believe you at first, but now I do."

"Well, at first it was only for money and independence. And it will help me to get my house. But now even more than money, I enjoy it. It's better than sex for me, having this power over a strong man, and making him love me. You know something..." She hesitated. Sam felt that she'd been about to reveal something significant.

"What is it?"

"I have problems with men. Usually they are weak wimps, or else jealous assholes. I was with one guy, for a few years, I liked him, maybe I even loved him, and he loved me, but he was always angry that I did modelling, but really he was angry at my independence."

Sam replied gently, "So you want a strong, weak, nice asshole."

Elena didn't laugh. "I dreamed of someone like you all this time I was modelling. Hot looking older guy, loyal, submissive and obedient, but not really weak."

Sam felt that he had to resist her overwhelming seduction, or he'd be trapped forever by her. "You might be better off with a big old dog," he laughed.

"No. I want a man, not a dog. A nice man with money, to buy me gifts. And a big hard dick, to fuck me when I tell him to. I want you, Sam. My slave and lover for ever. You will be happy. I will make you so happy, like you never were before, with your ex-wife, or any woman before. I know your heart, and I own it. My slave Sammy."

"Oh Elena..."

"You love me. Say it."

"Elena..."

"Say it, my strong weak slave."

"I love you. I'm crazy, but I love you."

"And I love you too. So I'm also crazy, to fall in love with an English man twice my age. But love is crazy. You'll see, when we meet, it will be great, and you'll be happy with your crazy sexy Goddess."

Sam didn't know how to respond to her sudden change of tack. She'd dropped her pretence, dropped her defences, and spoke candidly and directly to his heart. And he was now convinced that although she wanted wealth and power, even more than that, she wanted a wealthy and powerful man: She wanted Sam, not just Sam's money.

While he was thinking this, she said to him, "My Sammy, book for me a nice hotel, deluxe room, near Knightsbridge or Bond Street, all the best shoe shops are there. I'll give you the dates..."

Elena's plane was an hour late. Sam sat in the arrivals lounge at Heathrow airport and glanced at the time on his phone. He was wearing his old Omega watch, which had been his father's, but it didn't keep proper time. He squirmed uncomfortably in his suit. He usually dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, the uniform of most tech startup CEOs. He'd never told Elena more about his business other than he was the boss of a small company. If she'd known just how much he'd made this year from his "small company", she'd surely have tried to fleece him, no matter how much she claimed to be in it "for the lifestyle". But now he'd decided to pull out some, but not all of the stops. His tailor-made Huntsman suit had cost him over five thousand pounds. And he'd booked Elena a king size room for the whole week at the Park Lane Hilton, which had set him back another five thousand. And he would buy her all the shoes she desired and pay for the overweight allowance.

What had happened to Sam to make him so unafraid to reveal his wealth? It was that conversation: Elena, more than any woman he'd dated in the last few years, had been completely honest with him, completely without guile. Even if she'd checked his declared income from the Inland Revenue, it would have been last years' earnings, which were paltry by comparison with this year. She wanted him not merely for his wealth, but for who he was, or at least who he wanted to be. And he in turn didn't merely desire her; he wanted to protect her, cherish her, and yes, worship and adore her. Because now, despite his previous declarations of his love, he was sure that he truly loved her. And he was determined to make a good impression, as a humble suitor.

She appeared among the crowd of passengers, wheeling a Gucci suitcase. She was trying to make a good impression too: She was wearing tight white jeans and a grey roll neck sweater under the leather coat he'd bought for her. And she'd changed her footwear from the comfortable trainers she'd worn on the plane into her Louboutin 'Pigalle' pumps, which he'd worshipped so many times before.

Before he could begin to feel awkward with her, she grabbed his upper arms and kissed his neck. He caught a whiff of her sexy, middle eastern smelling perfume. She was taller than he'd imagined, five feet eight with her heels. A perfect height for his six-foot stature. "Wow," she said. "Nice arm muscles. Come on, I need a cigarette so bad. Where is your car?"

He'd hired a Black Range Rover Sport in order to chauffeur his Mistress to her hotel in style, deeming his own tiny Smart car as too cheap looking. When she got in, she immediately opened the window and lit a cigarette. She blew smoke, and then turned to him and asked, "Happy to see me?"

Sam focused on the complicated road signs leading out of the airport. "Yes. Very."

"Wait, let me check..." Elena cupped a hand over Sam's bulging pants and patted his hardon. "Good Boy."

She was quiet for most of the journey. "London is big, and ugly," she declared, as they drove past the drab buildings on the Western outskirts of the city.

"This isn't London yet. Your hotel is in a nice part."

"I know. The Hilton. You spent a lot for your Goddess."

"I hope you'll like it."

As soon as the porter took Elena's bag and the doorman held the door for her politely, Elena was happy. Sam waited at the concierge desk while they found her room booking - or rather, his booking.

"You want to come and see my room? I can give you your Christmas present. I brought it with me."

"Thank you."

Sam stood, arms behind his back, looking at the view over the park, while Elena unpacked, and checked out the bed, cupboards, bathroom taps and fittings, shower, hairdryer, lights, TV, phone, armchairs and writing desk.

"Good enough?"

"It's nice. The bed is very comfortable."

"I've booked a restaurant for eight. Japanese. Shall I pick you up at seven thirty?"

"Silly slave. You don't have to leave your Goddess. Stay with me. Oh!" She jumped up and rummaged in a bag, and handed Sam a box, gift-wrapped with red paper and gold ribbon.

"I want to see if it suits you."

Sam's face fell: It was a cock cage. He'd read about them, and decided they were a gimmick, and unhygienic. But of course he thanked her for her 'gift'.

"Try it. Maybe it's too small."

"It is too small now."

"You're right. I make you too horny Sammy. You need to cum first. Okay: I'll let you cum now, and then you must wear it all week. Go. In the bathroom." She added, half to herself, "Phekh... already you're going to make a mess like a dog in my new clean bathroom before I even had a chance to use it!"

Sam stood before the mirror in the bathroom. He started to jerk off. Aware of Elena in the other room, he was finding it difficult.

"Here," her voice called from the other room. A Louboutin shoe skidded across the bathroom floor.

"The same shoe you jerked off to so many times. Now you can smell it for real."

Sam held the shoe in his left hand and sniffed the insole, inhaling the scent of leather, while stroking his dick feverishly with his right. Finally he came.

"Clean the bathroom now, dirty dog!" She called. Sam washed the cum off his dick and the washbasin, and carefully wiped the basin clean.

He stripped, stuffed his flaccid dick into the cold metal cage and entered the bedroom. Elena was lying on the bed, filming the room and the view out of the window with her phone, speaking in Romanian. She panned across to him and continued her commentary in English. "And here is my chastity slave, my dirty dog... my English gentleman Sam."

She stopped filming and threw the phone on the bed. "Lock it and give me the key." Sam fiddled with the padlock checking that his dick was well and truly imprisoned then handed her the little key.

"Good boy. If you are a good slave to me all week, I let you out, and you can cum. Now, close the curtains."

Sam drew the curtains closed and turned to face her, awaiting her next command. But she just sat on the bed looking at him, her back propped up by pillows. She drew her knees up and pressed her feet onto the mattress and continued staring silently at him. She let her legs fall open in a diamond shape. Fixing him with her stare, she began to rub her fingers slowly into the groin of her jeans. "My sexy slave with his nice muscles, watching his Goddess. So weak with his dick trapped."