Velvet: A Story of Obedience

1. The Beginning

I met the two of them in an internet chat room. They were quite open about it; after a brief casual exchange, they boldly declared that they were 'looking for a co-operative submissive, prepared to surrender either her or him-self to their instructions'. 'These instructions would', they confirmed at the outset, 'involve the subject in a series of adventures and experiments of a sexual nature'.

Maybe here I should explain my background. At the age of 37, I am an ambitious, successful business woman. Five feet nine inches tall, weighing just under nine-and-a-half stone, with a firm slim figure kept in trim by moderate exercise and a healthy diet. I run my own confidential courier service and I'm aware of the fact that most members of my staff regard me as 'something of a martinet'. I pay them well but I expect them to perform; and if they don't I make them painfully aware of the fact. Although by no means leading a celibate life I choose to remain emotionally 'unattached'.

Their frank declaration, after an initial period of contemplation, intrigued me; and I began to fantasise what it would feel like to be controlled, for once, rather than always being the director – particularly in respect of 'sexual adventures and experiments'. That last thought already began to fuel my arousal. I could fell a distinct pulse deep in my vagina, my nipples and aureole began to stiffen and tingle and my clitty began to expand and tighten. I was aware of a dampening in the crotch of my panties. With my fingers figuratively crossed I responded.

"What would it involve, exactly?"

"You're still there," was the reply, "we thought we might have frightened you off! If you seriously want to pursue this, we'll show you. Have you got a video link camera?"

"Yes."

"Set it up."

I did and after a short while a picture appeared on my screen – Ebb and Flo. They were both dressed alike, each in a satin corselet trimmed across the top and at the hem with soft, froth of lace. Six satin suspender straps, three each side supported, lace topped nylon stockings and both wore plain three inch court shoes. The woman I quickly came to know as Flo – obviously a sobriquet – who appeared to be about my own height and maybe a year or two older, was in shades of green that complimented her auburn hair, green eyes and pale, slightly freckled, complexion. Her firm strawberry tipped breasts thrust out over the top of her costume and her neatly trimmed pubic bush, a flaming match for her hair, was framed by the frothy lace hem, the satin suspender-straps and her lace stocking tops. Ebb, a fair skinned slender blond some three inches shorter than Flo and about five years younger, was dressed in shades of blue. Ebb's costume was completed by a pair of delicate lacy satin panties, also in blue, that inadequately constrained a rampant erection. Strangely, the disfiguration of his panties and absence of any bosom did nothing to detract from the femininity of Ebb's appearance. I was to learn later that, fully dressed 'en-femme', his femininity was unquestionable. There was a similarity about their faces that suggested a link – siblings or cousins perhaps; and I was vaguely aware that Ebb, at least, seemed familiar to me. I was to learn later just how familiar!

"Okay," was the next text, "stand up and train the camera on your self."

Anticipating what would come next I experienced a degree of panic, which I stilled by the thought that I had agreed to the exchange and, anyway, there was no diminution in my arousal. My body was ready even my mind was a bit reluctant.

I wasn't wrong; there followed step by step instructions to removed my blouse and bra' and to train the camera on my, by now bullet tipped, breasts; followed, after an interval during which the two of them examined my breasts, by instructions to remove my skirt, underskirt and panties.

"We're glad to see that you wear stockings and suspenders; not those ghastly tights," came the next comment. "Keep those on and train the camera up between your legs.

Highly excited by now, and aware that my lower lips were salivating fast, I did as I was told, opening my legs slightly to allow an unrestricted view of my own vagina to appear on the screen. It was a strange experience, that first time, to see my most intimate feature spread out for others to view. I'd bared my breasts in public before, on continental beaches, but this was the first time anyone other than a chosen lover or an occasional doctor had had such visual access to my vagina. Strange it might have been but it was somehow highly satisfying, particularly as I was responding to the directions of others.

The duration of their inspection was even longer; then the next instruction came.

"Sit back in your chair with your legs apart, train the camera on your body and masturbate – slowly!"

And so I did, as confirmed by the images that appeared on my own screen, as well as theirs, and the screens of those to whom they chose to allow a link, and for all I know anyone else who managed to 'hack in' to our private exchange. Despite doing my best to obey their dictate, and despite the slow rhythm I used, my fingers had barely touched my supercharged organs, my engorged labia and swollen throbbing clitty, before I exploded in an orgasmic flood that swept through my body and drenched my fingers, thighs, suspender-straps, stocking tops and the seat of my chair with my deluge and left me feeling weak and exposed.

"Very nice," the computer clicked, "although much too quick. You were told to masturbate slowly! You'll have to learn to do better than that, to control your feelings until given permission to complete. Remember, you are our plaything and must subject yourself to our guidance. Your own needs and feeling are secondary – in all things. Now, use your fingers and your tongue to clean up your quim and your thighs."

Completely under their spell by now, I did as I was bid and used my fingers to gather as much of my own musky, honey-dew as I could transferring them to my mouth to lick and savour the taste. It wasn't the first time I'd tasted my own orgasm. Curiosity had driven me to milk my own vagina before and some of my female lovers and I had held each others flows long enough in our mouths to share in deep kisses – something I'd never done with any of my male lovers, although I had in the past fed them with their own 'cum'.

"Okay," the computer continued, "We are prepared to continue with this on the condition that you subjugate yourself completely to out direction. Any departure from any of our dictates will result in immediate cessation of our relationship. You will at all times await our call; at no time will you initiate any exchange; and you will comply with instant and total obedience. From now on you will be known as 'Velvet' and as such you will be in front of your computer to receive instructions between midnight and one am each day, with your camera link in place and functioning. During tomorrow you will purchase a minimum of four costumes like ours, although yours will be in shades of yellow, which you will wear when you are awaiting our contact. Like Flo, you will only wear panties when you are 'on', and you may be required to prove it. If this is clear and you wish to continue, please respond with 'accepted: Velvet'."

It took me several minutes to decide before the massage went out.

"Accepted: Velvet."

And I wondered even then what I'd let myself into. I soon discovered ...

To be continued ...