An Evening with the Webcam Ch. 06

I became aware of my own breathing, there in the silent room. The fabric of my blouse played teasingly over my nipples at every breath, and I felt more wetness roll down my inner thigh as I shifted on the seat.

Still nothing.

I started typing again, convinced he hadn't received my message.

I'm here. What should I do now?

Message sent, I squirmed again. One hand caressed my breast, almost accidentally, warm and firm and round beneath my blouse. I heard a sound, realized it was my own whimper. I crossed my legs, and felt myself tighten with need.

When my phone chirped, the sound was as loud and as jarring as a gunshot. I jumped and fumbled at it, heart hammering.

Put the vibrator inside you. Now.

I rose and slid my panties down to my knees, quickly and clumsily. I took the small egg-shaped toy from my purse and pressed it inside myself, and could not stop the sigh as I closed around it. I was flooded; a trickle of wetness dripped from me and coated my fingers. I moaned softly, the sound amplified by the walls in the small stall.

Done.

This time, the answering message came back immediately.

Turn it on
Highest setting.
Stay still.
Do not come.
Three minutes.

I turned the small wheel on the battery pack. The vibrator came to life, buzzing strongly inside me. I yelped and nearly shot up off the seat; pleasure crashed through me, over and over, each wave bringing greater need with it.

I writhed and squirmed and twitched on the seat, locked in a pitched battle against my own orgasm. My hand slid under my blouse and found my nipple; I pulled and twisted sharply, focused on that sensation, trying to displace the feeling of the vibrator inside me. Wetness flooded out of me, and I closed my eyes and fought.

"Ngggh!" My gasp echoed off the tile walls. My hand clutched and twisted beneath my blouse. I could feel myself beginning to contract around it, orgasm looming, and I closed my eyes more tightly as I fought it off. I shuddered and nearly dropped the cell phone; my fingers quivered as I tapped out a message one-handed.

Please let me come!

The answer chirped back instantly. I knew what it was going to say before I read it.

Absolutely not.
Two minutes remaining.
Do not come.

I choked back a sob.No way no way two minutes there is no way I can take this oh my God I can't do it I'm going to come... I snatched my hand from beneath my blouse and shoved my fist into my mouth, sharp teeth scraping on soft skin. The contractions started again, accompanied by a dizzying wave of pleasure, and I whimpered and moaned and fought against it.Don't you come, Jackie, you're not allowed to come...

A wail of frustration and arousal, muffled around my fist. The toy was relentless, unceasing, buzzing and throbbing inside me, torturing me. My vision wavered, and my world shrunk down to nothing more than the wave of pleasure seeking to overthrow me and my fight to hold it back. I felt myself beginning to contract around the vibrator again, and the contraction only amplified the vibration.

"Nnnngh!" I bucked and thrashed again, and my hands fell to my thighs. I pulled my legs apart savagely. My fingers tightened, and my nails dug into the soft skin of my inner thighs; the cell phone, forgotten, tumbled to the floor.Hold it hold it don't come you can do this hold it! My mind flashed back to my fantasy, Robert holding me as Jason pressed against me, his hands hard on my breasts, and I nearly lost the struggle. Heat and a rush between my legs, the orgasm almost coming through...

No! The word came out loud, and I flushed.Don't you come! The vibrator buzzed and pounded. I closed my eyes and breathed hard through the sensations. Sweat dripped from my face, and I raised my knees and bent over nearly double. My teeth sank into my leg, just inside my knee...something, anything, to distract me from the vibrator.

My phone, forgotten on the floor, chirped.

My eyes flew open and I stared down uncomprehendingly at the screen.

Time's up.
Turn off the vibrator.

Relief swept over me. I turned off the egg and pulled it out of me with a wet slurp. Immediately, I felt empty and bereft. I rocked back and forth on the toilet seat, quivering, my body dripping sweat, tears of relief and need and desperation streaming down my face. I was far beyond the point of caring if anyone came in and heard me; I needed, wanted, and hated the idea of something inside me to ease this emptiness. Even now, the orgasm was still threatening to burst over me, take me without the aid of the vibrator or any touching at all, and I almost didn't care whether or not it did. It would be so easy...just a quick tightening of the muscles, just a little squeeze, and then blissful ecstasy, and an end to the need...

The phone chirped a message. I picked it up and looked at it blearily.

Time to go to lunch. Text me when you're finished.

I sat there for several more minutes, cooling off, and let my breathing return to normal. My inner thighs burned, and I saw I'd left marks there with my fingernails.

Finally, I pulled the panties back up and rose. My legs buckled beneath me, and I caught myself to keep from falling. Cool tile pressed against my breasts, and I dragged my nipples across the unyielding wall as I straightened.

I washed my face quickly in the sink, then straightened my clothes. Denial did wonderful things to my appearance, if nothing else; my skin shone, and the reflection of my body glowed in the mirror.

I walked, still slightly unsteady, to the elevator and rode it down to the first floor. The car was filled with people, all of them heading to lunch; several of my coworkers exchanged pleasantries as I boarded the elevator. I nodded and smiled and tried not to whimper. A tiny part of my mind panicked for an instant-They can see, they can tell, they know what you need-and with that thought came, paradoxically, a strange rush of euphoria. I shuddered and pushed it and the panic back down, and waited patiently for the elevator doors to open.

Lunch passed quickly. I ate alone at a small table in the corner of the cafeteria and daydreamed thoughts of carnal desire. Disjointed images danced idly through my head: Robert's gentle caress this morning; Jason's hands twined through my hair, holding me down; the feel of the leather couch beneath my bare skin as I opened my legs and masturbated for the camera. I smiled secretly to myself, felt wetness down in the warm recess between my legs.

After I'd finished eating, I pulled out my cell phone and tapped a message.

I'm finished with lunch. What would you like me to do now?

Robert's answer came very quickly.

I want to see that you're keeping yourself ready for me.

Go somewhere private. Spread your legs. Take a picture. Show me how wet you are.

The words made me shudder. I suppressed the small squeal and, heart pounding, slipped into the ladies' room. In the stall, I stripped my panties off quickly, and hiked the skirt up obscenely. I stood with my legs spread wide, slipped my cell phone down between my knees, and snapped a picture.

The image sent an electric shock down my back. White, milky wetness spilled from between my lips, and a small bead of my juices trickled down my thigh. My clit was engorged and erect. I moaned aloud, and fumbled slightly at the keys of the phone as I sent the obscene picture on its way to Robert.

The phone chirped in my hand.

Very nice. Put your panties back on. Go back to your office. Text me when you're there.

I dressed, smoothed down my skirt, and headed back to my office. Many of my fellow workers were still at lunch, and the couple who were not scarcely even looked up as I slipped through the door.

I'm here. What now?

The reply came back instantly.

Close the door. Unbutton your shirt. Use your office phone to call this number. When it's answered, describe what you are doing and what you are. Be detailed and explicit. Say the filthiest things you can think of.

I didn't recognize the telephone number at the end of the message. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart thudded.

Whose number is it?

A few agonizing moments later, the phone chirped.

Don't worry about it. Do as I say.

I shuddered and whimpered; my heart felt like it would surely leap from my chest. Heat rose in my cheeks. I locked my office door, pressed the "do not disturb" button on the telephone at my desk, and sat heavily in my chair. My hands shook as I fumbled clumsily at the buttons of my blouse.It's probably just his number, some company internal routing thing I don't know about, he's just getting me riled up... My breathing came heavy as I finished unbuttoning the blouse and pulled it open. My breasts dangled heavily, exposed, and I felt stripped and naked, vulnerable, embarrassed.

It's his number, I told myself,he wouldn't make me call some random stranger...

The hell he wouldn't,the rational part of my brain answered.He made you expose yourself on the Webcam to another person! He made you have SEX with another person! You really believe he wouldn't make you talk dirty to another person?

I picked up the cradle of the telephone and clutched it tightly.I'll dial the number,I said to myself.I'll just dial the number, and see who answers. If it's not him, I'll just hang up, that's all. He wouldn't tell me to make an obscene phone call to some random person. That wouldn't be right. So I'll just dial the number, and it will be him on the other end.

My cell phone chirped, and I jumped and dropped the handset. I stared at the screen.

One more thing. Touch yourself during the phone call. Fondle your breasts.

I gulped and picked up the handset. Slowly, I forced myself to dial the number Robert had given me.It's going to be him, it's going to be him, the mantra ran in my head, over and over again.

The phone rang. I trembled and held my breath.

Again.Maybe nobody will answer. Again.

Another ring. Then, a click. My heart dropped, and my stomach did flip-flops. A synthesized mechanical voice came on the line: "There is no one available to take your call. Please leave a message after the tone. When you are finished, hang up, or press star for delivery options."

No clues, no identification in the message. I whimpered again; the sound reached my ears from somewhere far away. A mechanical beep sounded from the handset.

I took a deep breath.Hang up the phone!screamed the embattled rational part of my brain.Don't leave a recording! You don't even know who this number belongs to!

I cleared my voice uncertainly. "Um, hello. I..." My voice sounded quavery and hoarse. "Um, I'm not entirely sure who I'm talking to. This might sound a little strange, but I was told to call this number and..."I took a deep breath and struggled to form the words. "I was told to..." I shifted in my chair, and felt wetness soaking my panties. I leaned back slightly and brought my hand to my breast. My nipple was painfully hard; I rolled it between my fingers and sighed. "I was told to call this number and describe what a dirty slut I am."

No way out now.

Blushing furiously, heat and shame crawling down my body, I made myself speak. "I am sitting in my office right now with my blouse hanging open, fondling my breasts. I am a filthy, desperately horny,, sex-starved whore." My face burned; from somewhere far away, the rational part of my mind looked at me aghast. "I-" I gulped, and my voice caught in my throat. "I'm dripping wet right now, because I've been masturbating all day but I am not allowed to come. And being made to tell you these things, even though I don't even know who you are, is..." I shivered and slid my hand over my breast. "Is making me wetter."

As soon as the words left my mouth, the truth behind them hit me full force. The floodgates opened; my pussy twitched and my juices saturated the thin fabric of my panties and poured down my thigh. I moaned and closed my eyes, and leaned back farther in the chair. I ran my hand up over the curve of my breast, then higher, over my throat, along the side of my neck, and moaned again. All these elements-the filthy talk, the forced exhibition, performing for someone else-all these things were familiar, things I had explored before, but put together in this way, they were electrifying and new. The rational voice inside me fled as I surrendered completely to the heat.

"Oh, God," I sighed, "I am a filthy little fuck toy. I love masturbating for people I don't even know. I love being told to write filthy things on my body. I love sucking cock, I love being given to another man and ordered to let him have my body..." The words came pouring effortlessly out of me. I caressed myself and fondled my breasts, eyes closed, intoxicated by the act of spilling these intimate secrets into the phone, to the unknown person who would hear the message.

I ran my fingertips lightly over my body and down over my legs. The feeling, a whisper of sensation over hungry skin, made me shudder. I lifted my skirt and traced the contours of my labia through my panties, feeling warmth and dampness. "Mmm," I said, as I cradled the telephone handset like a lover, "I want you to know I feel very, very dirty right now." I pressed my fingers beneath my panties and slid them deep inside myself. "Unh! I have my fingers in my cunt, and oh, God, it feels good." I worked my fingers in, and gasped. "My cunt is shaved bare. I feel filthy telling you all this, like a dirty well-fucked tramp. Oh!" I withdrew my fingers and ran them up my body, over my breasts, leaving two trails of wetness on my bare skin. "My fingers are dripping with my juices. God, my body is aching to be stripped bare and tied down and used for sex." I raised my fingertips to my mouth, parted my lips, and extended my tongue slightly to meet them. "I can taste myself all over my fingers." I wrapped my lips around my fingers and drew them in deep, slurping noisily. "I love sucking a cock after I've just been fucked. It tastes so-"

The handset beeped. "Message limit reached," came the metallic voice. "You may hang up or press star for delivery options."

I jumped slightly and hung up the phone. In that instant, all the embarrassment and shame that had gone to places unknown while I'd been talking came sweeping back over me like an inferno. My ears, face, and neck burned hot and red. I snatched my fingers away from my lips and stared at them like they were detached from me, some alien things that had landed here from nowhere. My thighs were soaked; my nipples were aflame; my body quivered and hummed, crackling with tension and shame.

A sudden need to cover myself rushed over me. I closed my blouse with shaking hands; it took three tries before I could button it back up again. My nipples strained against the cloth,. I smoothed down my skirt and sat panting.I can't leave the office! I probably smell like sex! Anyone who looks at me will know what state I'm in.

The thought brought a twitch between my legs. Arousal, mixed with the shame, the peculiar psychology of my sexuality asserting itself the way it always did...

...and I still had to let Robert know I'd done as I'd been told.

I picked up my cell phone.

Done.
I feel dirty.
Whose phone number was that?

No reply came. Minutes ticked by. The shame ebbed, and the needs of my workday life pressed in to replace it. I unfolded from the chair and unlocked my office door. Outside, people were returning to their cubicles from lunch. The office filled with the sounds of people being productive.

I returned to my desk and turned my attention, as best I could, to the demands of work. I had even more trouble focusing than I had before; the greater part of my mind was occupied processing the message I had just left. For reasons I did not completely understand, calling that phone number and leaving that message for a mystery audience made me even more uncomfortable than I had been when Robert had told me there was someone else watching as I masturbated on my Webcam. I really did feel dirty, and exposed in a way I hadn't felt on the camera.

And yet...

And yet I was incredibly, powerfully aroused. I caught my hand surreptitiously creeping between my legs as I thought about the things I'd said. My mind drifted; I remembered how Robert had made me talk to Jason and describe what was happening as he'd taken me, and wondered what it would be like to leave a message on a stranger's voice mail while Robert fucked me. I thought, too, about calling that number, and letting the voice mail record as I masturbated to orgasm, and shared myself in so intimate and vulnerable way with this person I did not know.

The afternoon passed in a haze of lust, arousal, and distraction. Quitting time was on me before I was even aware of it. A giddy, tingling sense of shame washed over me-you'll have to walk by everyone in the office! They'll be able to tell!-and my nipples hardened under my blouse.

I packed up and left quickly, scarcely saying goodbye to anyone, feeling self-conscious. In the parking garage, I glanced up at the security camera, and felt a tingle between my legs. A brief sexual fantasy flashed through my head-hands on my body, ripping off my clothes, teeth on my neck, a quick hot passionate fuck standing up against the concrete pillar supporting the ceiling, while the security guard watched from his booth-and then I was in my car and navigating through traffic.

"Robert! I'm home!" I sang when I walked through the door. "Are you going to tell me who you made me call this afternoon?"

He met me at the door with a grin on his face. He was wearing a button-up dress shirt, slacks, a narrow black necktie. "No." A fierce and unexpected kiss choked off any further questions, and I gave myself over to it, I returned the kiss hungrily, greedily, arms wrapped tightly around him, and whimpered my need and desire. It went on and on and on, that kiss, and I moaned and ground against him and feared that I would come right there.

Finally he broke the kiss and I panted and stared wordlessly at him. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me further into the house. I let out a shriek of surprise, but he did not respond at all; he merely kept pulling me, fingers tight in my hair, through the living room and into the study.

"Are you a good girl? Have you been doing as you're told?" Before I could answer, he spun me around and bent me over the huge antique roll-top desk that was one of his prized possessions. "Let's find out."

I gripped the edge of the desk and stayed there, amid the scent of hardwood and old books, as he pulled my skirt up over my ass. I heard him unzip his slacks, then he pulled my panties aside and in one deep thrust he was inside me. I screamed and closed around him and oh, God, it felt good. His hands gripped my thighs tightly and he began taking me in long, hard strokes. I moaned and pushed back against him, accepting him deeper, and slipped one hand between my legs. I stroked my fingers over my clitoris, obeying his directive to masturbate as soon as I came home, "May I come? Please?" I asked, barely able to speak through the ripples of pleasure that accompanied every thrust.

He didn't reply, but grunted as he moved faster, taking me hard across his desk. I heard his breathing quicken and felt him harden and swell within me, and I knew he was close. "Please, please let me come!" I sobbed, my fingers still moving in rapid circles around my clit.

He threw back his head and roared as he slammed into me, and I felt the hard wet slap of his orgasm gushing deep within me. I screamed and gripped the edge of the desk with both hands and fought against my own orgasm, and behind me I felt his hands tighten on my hips as he pounded me and shook with ecstasy.