Soliloquy

The rain falls hard against my window on this windy winter evening as I stand up from my computer. I shut the monitor off and push in my chair. This was the last I will hear from my long-distance lover. I turned out the light and clutched a tissue to my nose with a reluctant release. I couldn’t believe I had become so ensconced with the faulty assumption our digital relationship would expand to an actual meeting and eventual embrace. Sally became more than an idle preoccupation; I obsessed over her words and her devious plans of my servicing her equally lustful loins. I knew pushing the envelope by pursuing the initially insignificant details might cause adversity in our discourse. My undying need to be with her got the best of me and I asked more than she was willing to divulge. I never knew my lust for her could drive me to insist on the truth despite months of credible assurance she was who she claimed to be and our longing s would materialize in due time. Did I need to know any more than my soul desired? I don’t know.

Our correspondence was an innocent and unlikely occurrence. She simply replied to my story: a detailed depiction of my submitting to a dominant woman and our eventual breakup. Sally was turned on by my text and I felt extremely flattered and connected to a stranger who would later become my muse. I replied in gratitude and thus began an exchange of letters which became increasingly erotic and naughty beyond anything I had ever disclosed with anyone. My days as an outwardly straight laced music teacher were becoming soiled once again and I loved the idea of letting loose for my inner desires. My lust for a steamy lesbian affair offered a powerful rush similar to my pre-teen longing for a long, throbbing cock.

My first detailed sex letter to Sally sent me home from my office before she could respond. Shifting in my seat and seeing the next bus about to leave from the college, I grabbed my bag and coat and made it without a moment to spare. I sat near the back as the fogged window machine trundled down the dark highway. The wheel well was directly beneath me as the axle vibrated the seat into a pleasurable cadence. I masturbated right there that evening as the sparsely populated bus winded toward my exit.

I began to plan my days for such emergencies and several trips into Seattle yielded sex toys which held me over until Sally and I could someday meet. I sent her a pair of panties I had worn while writing such a letter but it never arrived. Surely it exists as a trophy for some unscrupulous postal employee. I so wanted Sally to open the package and be as excited as I was for sending my intimates - but no. Her letters in the following days were steeped in disappointment and I only wanted to perform a compensatory penance. Perhaps I’d flip-flopped a digit or had not included a proper zip code. I blame myself and wanted to demonstrate to her my lesson learned. My recurring dreams of her punishing me for my failure served to satisfy even the desires she might not have considered. I bought a quirt; a small whip. Then I bought a butt plug because I needed to better prepare my bottom for the eventual intruder she would introduce as part of my punishment.

Her persona seemed to be tender and thoughtful but teemed with a commanding presence which would not be above inflicting some heavy pain upon my skin. There’s nothing she could do to me I would not enjoy somehow. To flat-line at her hands would’ve been a pleasure and a privilege. ;-)

As the months dragged on, I was preparing myself for our eventual liasson. I wanted her to insist on my schedule or order me to board a plane. I would’ve dropped my plans in a heartbeat but could not bring myself to impose such a bold action. Her words were suggestive but never outright and I needed an audible okay. There was little my imagination couldn’t muster except the words, ‘I’m on my way’.

I was desperate for some adventure in my life and felt the likelihood of meeting Sally beginning to fade. Meanwhile a gentleman in Houston had read my stories and acquainted himself with me and also proposed I become his slave. He sent me contracts and rules which I consumed with every word. I decided to at least meet the man who would be my Master but had a back-up plan to continue on to Louisiana should this be ill-fated. Master Robert was attractive and kind but I declined his offer in person and drove to my relatives in Metarie. I still had hopes of driving to New York to meet Sally but she had cut off relations in disgust and frustration for my Houston plans. I wanted to write and tell her my original intentions but it was too late. The truth is, I only ever envisioned myself submitting to another woman - such as Sally.

Three weeks later she returned with the first three pictures of herself which really made me happy. She was gorgeous and my fantasies of her began to take on a sense of reality. I began to see women who resembled her and my waking thoughts were of her beautiful face. The last few weeks of correspondence were filled with thoughts and activities but no promise. Somehow we’d lost our original intent and I was still thinking of her as a fading, fleeting object of my desires.

My invitation for her to sail with me around Vancouver Island seemed to fall on half-interested ears. I had not given up hope and even bought a latex skirt and top in which I would introduce myself. I spent several days getting acquainted with wearing rubber which only served to spark my arousal. The rubber mini would squeak with every move and felt as if the rubber was about to roll right up my thighs to my waist. The matching top left nothing to the imagination and offered no warmth or insulation. My nipples would garner more attention peeking through the thin material than if I just walked around topless. This is okay, it’s the whole idea. I envisioned myself opening my front door in this ensemble and giving Sally a great first impression. I even began tanning under sun lamps to eliminate the lack of sun’s effect over the long winter. Sally seemed content not to pursue our meeting and I was becoming a frustrated girl. I didn’t want to be pushy or so shallow as to not delight in her letters, but I needed more. I wanted to challenge her on her intentions and have her assert her interest in me and perhaps instigate a last minute plan to meet. After writing and sending my bold letter last week, I sat and waited. I grew increasingly uncomfortable with the thought she would not treat my questions kindly. I was full of regret and guilt. I was silently staring at the screen hoping she could slap my face and set me straight. Better yet, she would use the quirt which hung conspicuously next to my monitor. I crossed my legs and bit my lip. This idle time did nothing for my escalating libido.

“Julie, go get undressed and put on the latex dress,” I thought I heard Sally say.

“Okay,” I heard myself reply. No arguments there.

Five minutes later I slinked into the room in rubber but still no reply from Sally. I crossed my legs which would do absolutely no good in concealing my panties. The rubber simply inched up my thighs as if invisible fingertips helped glide the fabric upward - Make those well-manicured nails at the end of Sally’s long, tone arms. I closed my eyes and helped the imagined fingertips roll the rubber up my legs. I stood briefly to let the material roll up my buttocks and felt the coolness of my wood chair. This evening begged for the butt plug and I proceeded to prepare myself. I dropped to the floor and spread my knees wide. I took careful pains to directed the phallus behind me and began guiding it in and out. The tearful effort paid off with the content but discomforting lodge of the plug in my anus. I sat up carefully and wiped the tears from my eyelashes.

“What are you doing, you nasty little bitch?” I asked myself.

I carefully eased back into the chair with the noticeable object beneath. My breathing was heavy and I furiously began to rub my clitoris before climaxing quickly.

I decided to write an off-line letter but my words became clouded by the thoughts of a displeased Sally seeing me now. The dull ache in my bottom was losing its effect so I began to swat my pussy with the quirt. The lack of sting was less than stimulating; I needed more. I removed a large picture frame in desperation and removed the cable from the back. My fingers fumbles to unthread the wire before pulling it free.

*SNAP*

The cable cut in to my thigh as I haphazardly swung it behind me.

*SNAP*

With better accuracy, the wire cut into the skin on my backside. OUCH!! I shrieked.

After twenty or more strikes of the lash, I switched hands and proceeded to scourge the other side of my back I took a moment to pull my top over my breasts before continuing the diabolic lash across my own back. I knew there were probably some significant stripes across my skin if not open cuts. I dropped to my knees and elbows while continuing to strike behind my shoulders. With my face pressed against to the floor I noticed a drop of blood trickle down my right breast and off my nipple. I dropped the whip and grappled for my vibrator. In less than an instant I was relieved of my penance and orgasm. I fell to the side in a pitiful heap and remembered to shut off the fleeting vibrator. I remained there for another few minutes before removing the plug.

I stood up and reluctantly surveyed the damage from the whip.

“Ohmygawd!”

My back, buttocks and legs were a striped mess. Not more than an inch of skin hadn’t felt the whip!

Getting dressed was a sobering experience. I decided things had gotten so far out of hand so quickly. I could not continue this self-destructive behavior.

The following day Sally wrote to inform me she was no longer interested in knowing me and I agreed she was right. The recent pictures I meant to send would have to be canceled. Any more words would not be said.

I checked my in-box last night and again tonight and felt more than a twinge of sadness for the loss of this beautiful person. I don’t know what to do but treat this sadness like a great book which just came to an end. There is nothing more I can do but cherish my time with this wonderfully well-written classic.

Goodbye, my dear Sally.

Julie