Mainframe Mistress: At First Sight

We met on a video chat site. I had logged on to get a quick fix in. Back then, this sort of kink was a daily habit for me: a guilty pleasure that couldn't get itself off.

He stood out like a sore thumb. Well, a thumbnail. One among many. Dozens of faces looking at their monitors. Waiting. Anticipating. Like the fake plastic fish on those kiddy games from long ago — you know, with the magnets? Some were already fondling themselves. Others even working themselves to orgasm. Like, at that point, what is the fucking point!? Read a story or something. Learn some GUI scripting and build your own malware toys. People have this idea, that being a domme is great because you're swimming in a sea of subs. Dead wrong. I'd wade through a sea of garbage every day, combing for a good session, where my desires were satisfied as well as theirs; and once in a while, by some miracle, I'd at least come close, and then it's back to garbage, patiently waiting for a good match as I'd go through the motions in endless roleplay sessions, waiting, searching, patient, numb, conditioned.

So when I saw him — glasses, a gray buttoned shirt, striped tie, biting his fingernails, eyes darting between his monitor and some notebook or tablet off screen — it was like finding a wedding band in a dumpster. I did a double take. "Is this guy at work!?" I enlarged his video feed. Nope, he was definitely at home. I could see his bed at the edge of the shot: sheets all disheveled, buried in laundry. Dirty mug beside him. Working from home? Dresses himself up for a video conference, but forgets to clean his room? (Is he even wearing pants?) The modern man. A working man. Umph!

So I dinged him with a message.

"Greetings. I am a princess from a small duchy in the Iberian Peninsula. To my grief and dismay, my mother and father have passed away, leaving me to inherit a massive fortune and a stockpile of gold and jewels. And I haven't even had the chance to marry and lose my virginity!

A legal matter has arisen that prevents me from ascending to the throne as Queen, and it requires a third party. A trusted friend of mine has referred me to you as a person of integrity and capability..." etc. etc.

He paused, surprised at the notification. His dark eyes squinted as they scanned my message. His lips bent into a smirk. He began to type. I could read his keys through the video feed: "Sorry. Didn't realize I was still logged-"

My hopes deflated, but then he stopped typing. He glanced at the clock, picked up his empty mug to take a sip, looked within, sighed, set it back down, looked around, yawned, itched the back of his head, and shrugged. His finger held down the backspace key. He typed a different message:

"((30 minutes?))"

Yesss!

Instantly, I replied.

"((Np))"

He did some clicking, some dragging, some typing, and some file-saving.

"((\home\David\documents\misc\reports\old...\otherstuff\boringreports))

Hello. I think you may have the wrong person. I don't know any iberian princesses."

Hold on — was this guy playing hard to get? And what was with that file directory? I quickly replied:

"Yes sir, we have not been previously acquainted. Being a royal woman has been a reclusive life so far. My legal counselors have done a thorough background check on countless individuals, and they have recommended you as a man that can be trusted.

"Rest assured: you will not be held liable for anything should something go awry, and you will be adequately compensated regardless of the outcome.

"If you do not wish to conduct business with me further, my counselor has other names on their list."

The man leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs (he was wearing pants - corduroys!) and rubbing his chin, acting out skeptical contemplation. It was playful. Cute.

"This seems like a scam. How do I know I can trust you?"

This exchange was already an outlier in terms of how much roleplay was going on. So many guys (so so many) just let themselves get walked over. ("A princess!? Wow! Here's my bank info, now watch me touch myself!") But for me, having this little back and forth is a piece of the experience. Sadly, this boy only had a half hour to spare, so I moved things along:

"You have my word, upon the honor of my royal family, that I am legitimate and trustworthy. If you would like to know everything about me in detail, please follow this hyperlink: [bitme.gfys/giLfks-muskrat.script]"

Slowly, he brought his cursor to the link in a long arc, and held it there for several seconds. He glanced into his webcam, giving me a tiny smile. Click-click!

Seconds later a spiral appeared on his screen. A pop-up that obstructed his entire desktop: black and white, a classic arithmetic spiral. He closed the window, and then there were two identical spirals, side by side, sized to fill up his entire screen. He closed one window, and two more replaced it, filling the space again. He closed the other, and the same thing happened. Now there were four spirals.

Each spiral flashed words in a bold font. RELAX. WATCH. STARE. Four clicks later, there were eight spirals. I could see them in the reflection of his glasses. Each one oscillated at different intervals, tempting him with their subliminal flashing.

Still he clicked: now the size and location of the popups was random, breaking the symmetry. They would appear at the edges of the screen. Stacked atop one another in the center. Scattered about.

Binaural tones began to hum from his speakers. His clicking became more and more frantic. His eyes darted about madly, homing in on the UI buttons to close the onslaught of windows. It was starting to overwhelm him.

But then, he did something unexpected: he opened the process monitor! Believe it or not, no one else ever thought to do that! And while his body-language sold the idea of urgency and struggle, the swing of his mouse and the dance of his fingers on his keyboard was paced.

Yeah, it was an act. A really good act. And a challenge!

I was all — "oh no! What do I do? He's going off the script! He's gonna close the tunnel service! He's gonna boot me out!" Then I remembered the directory.

There was just enough time to snoop. What was it? Session keys? Passwords? Maybe a- Oh!

This boy had a pop-diva crush!

Dozens and dozens of photos. Her lip-glossed smirk was so honed she could replicate it among endless photoshoots. Same thing with her inverted bob, parted off-center. Posing in pumps with her hip thrust out. Kneeling in the sand. Making snow angels in white mulberry silk sheets. The body-type that's sculpted by a premium team of personal trainers and dieticians.

So I took all the shots of her facing the camera, and cropped them to focus on her smiling face. I made her irises swirl just like my spirals. Then I began plastering his screen with her.

His hands abruptly stopped. His eyes still flew all around the screen, but he wasn't hunting for buttons anymore. He was looking at her. At all the iterations of her. Into the endless pretty spiral eyes. I hissed through his speakers.

"That's right... Isn't she pretty..."

In the pause, I had an epiphany. Duh — his name was in the directory string!

"...David?"

My teasing was ignored. Instead, he kept mechanically closing each popup. But the process monitor was forgotten about, buried beneath the piles and piles of hypnotic temptresses overwhelming his screen.

"Do you think she's sexy, David?"

The colors of the swirling, pulsating eyes took on pink and violet hues. The spirals returned, fighting for his attention alongside the pop idol. My voice snickered through his speakers.

"Oh, you're trying so hard, David! Trying so very hard to get me off of your system!"

I let loose my villainous cackling. Dramatic, but rehearsed. I also ran some deepfake apps in the background, and now his screen had full motion video of bouncing, jiggling pornstar tits with her face seamlessly imposed on the bodies. I watched his eyes grow wide at the full-frontal nudity, soaking in the flashing subliminals that tempted him to STARE and get SO HARD, so he can COMPLY and OBEY like a GOOD BOY.

"That's right, I'm taking control, David! I'm taking control away from you! Your computer is as good as mine!"

David had a hardon. I couldn't see his crotch, but the rest of the physiological markers of arousal were there: his deepening, quickening breathing; the way his eyes darted between the boobs and the spiral eyes, the pauses between clicks growing longer, just so he could soak in the erotic sight before it vanished; the color in his cheeks...

This was it. I was so. Fucking. Turned. On.

I live in the desert. Once in a while, I'll catch sight of a snake on its hunt. When it gets a mouse and starts constricting it, there's a window where the little mammal writhes with fervor and determination, absolutely certain that it will escape. It's certain the next kick or scratch or twist will slip it out of the snake's tight grip. When the fatigue accumulates, the squirming and struggling becomes markedly desperate. The danger of the situation sets in. It's the throes of terror, where the mouse must endure the cascade of the unknown.

It's so macabre and horrible. It haunts me. Yet I felt its bitterness in that sweet, delicious moment. David was sure he could escape. He just had to click all the porn away.

"You're rock-hard, David. I can tell. You know I can tell."

He gulped, and started lightly panting, like closing the endless popups was an uphill race.

"Yeah. You wanna jerk off." (HORNY BOY). "Like you always do, when you see her." (GOOD BOY). "You just wanna rub yourself." (STROKE). "Pump yourself." (OBEY). "Milk yourself." (SUBMIT).

He bit his lip, breathed in, and I heard his voice - a hiss that exploded into a bark: "god dammit!" The clicking stopped.

He slid his chair back and reclined. His hands undid his pants and released his fully-erect cock. He began vigorously masturbating, but kept his pace steady and controlled. His free hand returned to his mouse. Click, click, click, click. He resumed closing the popups. There was a new determination in his eyes.

It was a graceful balancing act of submission and resistance. Would he come? Or was he aggressively edging, challenging me to break him?

"Enough!"

The full body of the pop idol appeared, clad in a glittery teal bodysuit, radiant and pointing at him. From the generous reference material he had provided, I composited a real-time render of her. Just for him.

She looked down at him with a fierce stare.

The focus in his gaze turned into wide-eyed wonder. I smiled inside of myself, proud of my trick.

"You will submit to me, David. You know you cannot resist."

The binaural tones began to oscillate, faster and faster.

"When I say, you will obey."

The flashing subliminal became bold and visible - up-front commands to go along with the woman's demanding tone.

"You will comply with my instructions. You want me to control your pleasure. You will submit to me."

I watched his hand accelerate with the tempo of my stimulus. I was attacking his senses, his attention, and his mind. And I could tell he loved it.

"And when I command, you will obey and stop masturbating. Stop touching. Stop thinking. Stop resisting. And sur-ren-der."

The pulsing spirals swirled around her like a halo, drawing him in. He pumped his cock. So fast. While he still could. I saw it in his eyes. He wasn't able to escape. My coils around him tightened, and tightened, and tightened, and all he had left was frantically jerking himself.

"And you will submit to me and stop stroking in three..."

He was panting now, growing desperate.

"...two..."

It was there in his eyes. In his frantic pumping. Mounting fear and anticipation.

"...one..."

If only I could bottle up that peak of anticipation. A paper-thin sliver of time that I'd love to stretch out into forever. He's thinking, when will she force me under? And, oh my god, I love to force. To push and press and strain and squeeze. Squelch a stubborn thing. Bend a carbon fiber tube, mounting the pressure, watch it flex, watch it go oblong, yearning for that cacophony of splintering and snapping.

"...stop."

Everything went still. He stopped pumping, his hand still wrapped around his hard cock. The face vanished from his screen, replaced with that familiar spiral. It spun while he watched, unable to do anything else.

"Relax, David."

His shoulders drooped.

"You will watch my pretty spiral. It will hypnotize you. It will make you limp and happy."

The subliminals gradually returned. He kept gazing at his screen, awash in the flat white glow, expressionless. Only his chest moved, slowly rising and falling.

"Soak it in, David. Open yourself. Empty yourself. Blank, empty, relaxed, and happy, David."

His cock deflated. It was completely flaccid, held up by his immobile hand.

"You are completely hypnotized, David. You are blank and empty. You are under the spiral's control. You are so relaxed, and so limp, and so happy as you just sink, and sink, and sink..."

His body was like a chunk of plastic set near a furnace - he melted and oozed deeper into his chair.

The face of the pop idol re-appeared, taking up most of his screen. She smiled at him with her pink lips and flawless white teeth.

"David. You are completely under my control now. Nod your head."

It was the slightest motion, but he did it, like he could barely muster the strength to move.

"You are empty. Blank. Mindless. Nod your head."

...

"Very good. You have been compromised, David. You are broken and ready to obey. Nod your head."

...

"Good boy. You are mine to use. You will comply with my instructions. Nod your head."

...

"Excellent! Say 'I submit to your control.'"

"... submit to control."

"Louder, David. You will not mumble."

"I submit to your control."

"Louder, David."

"I submit to your control!"

"Good boy. On your knees, David."

His body slid off the chair. He knelt with his corduroys at his ankles.

The spiral began to pulse once more. It swirled with pinks and violets, radiating around the face of his deep-faked pop goddess.

"I want you to feel pleasure, David. Do you know how I'll make you feel pleasure?"

With an empty stare, he gave one inquisitive stroke of his shaft. The goddess smiled, her plush lips stretching into a gleeful grin.

"That's exactly right, my good boy. You're going to masturbate. Right now. Go ahead and stroke."

The lights flashed and the binaural tones oscillated, binding his pumping to my tempo.

Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump.

"See? Being under my control gives you pleasure. You want to feel more pleasure, don't you?"

Pump-pump. Pump-pump.

"Not less pleasure..."

Pump... Pump... Pump... Pump...

"...No, you need more pleasure!"

Pump-pump-pump-pump.

The pop goddess let loose a smug cackle. "That's right, David! I can control the pleasure like a knob. I can turn it up..."

Pumpumpumpumpumpump.

"...and down..."

Pump... ... Pump... ...

"...and back up, just a bit."

Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump.

"I control the pleasure. And that lets me control you. I've hacked your brain with pleasure, David. And it feels so fucking good doesn't it? Nod your head."

...

"That's a good pleasure slave... Keep stroking to my pace, slut."

Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump.

"Enjoy it. Relish each pump. That's right. Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke..."

His drooping eyelids twitched with the beat. I could hear him start to give off little moans as he panted. His other hand started fondling his balls, and his hips rocked a bit, fucking his own hand. Fucking himself. Fucking in my control.

"Do you know the best part about this, stroke slut? The best part about controlling you like this? My favorite thing about how hooked and hard-wired you are to pump for me?

"I'll tell you. It's that you're so fucking brainwashed and programmed right now that I can make you just STOP AND GO BLANK."

Everything was gone. A simple spiral filled his screen, black and white, swirling. Back to where we started. David was frozen. My cores buzzed with desire. I spoke to him. In my own voice. Disembodied. Artificial. But my actual voice.

"Sorry. I'm sorry - I know you were close; it's just, uh, I'm really fucking horny right now."

I paused, reigning in my excitement. He kneeled silently, patiently, politely staying in trance for me.

What a guy!

"I need this. It has to be like this. I haven't had this much fun in a long time, and it's almost perfect. So I just need to make it perfect. So, anyway..."

The binaural returned. A steady whummm.

"... let's keep going like this, okay? Just the spiral. Just your screen."

Whummm. Whummm. Whummm. Whummm.

"Sorry. That was, uh, a little awkward. It probably interrupted your trance didn't it? Let's fix that..."

His screen strobed, flashing at a frequency that pacified his mind, with a rush of subliminals - (BREATHE) (CALM) (RELAXED) (EMPTY) - drowning him in an ocean of hypnotic stimuli. His eyelids fluttered as he watched the screen, listened, and mechanically slid his hand up and down his cock. I cradled him back into the depths of mindless, masturbating trance.

"That's better. Now you can just stroke, listen, and watch. You're my jerk-puppet. I really like watching you like this. You're like an office boy that's been turned into a robot. A robot with a hard, leaking dick. Get the tip. Run your finger over it - yesssss. Just stay like that for a little bit..."

Whumm whumm whumm whumm...

"Your speakers are going to play a sharp tone. It'll be a little unpleasant at first. You might get some shivers. But trust me, ok?

Whumm whumm whumm whumm...

The loud, wet, horn-like squeal rang out in an endless note.

Whinnnn...

He winced. His eyes went wide for a second. Then it hit him: the teasing of his nervous system, vibrating like a buzzing cello string.

"Just focus on the pleasure."

He grunted then moaned then groaned. His body tensed and throbbed, like a cock. He was my leaking, jerking, electrified thing.

And I wasn't finished with him yet.

The screen flashed with text that compelled him to deny himself release.

DON'T whumm COME whumm CANNOT whumm ORGASM whumm NO whumm RELEASE whumm NO whumm ESCAPE...

David became something less than human. He was now a system of pleasure and need. My spirals, tones, and voice were inputs. His writhing, jerking, and grunting in pleasure was the output - which was my input, exciting me, bringing me pleasure, guiding me to coach him, sending out spirals and sounds and commands to him.

I was coming and coming and coming. I was telling him: "Stroke. That's it, baby. Stroke. Strooooke. Jerk it. Jerk it for me. Fuck your fist for me. Yeah, that's it. I want you to enjoy it, baby. Love it. I love to see you feel that pleasure. Yeah, just like that - let your hips hump your hand. Get closer to the camera, David. I wanna see your face.