Are you ready, seated at your keyboard, in front of your mirror? The chat window on the screen demanded of me.

“Yes,” I typed back. I was seated with my laptop on my chest of drawers so I could see myself in my full-length mirror as I typed.

What are you wearing? The screen demanded next.

“Nothing.” I typed, glancing at the mirror as if to confirm it, and saw my unbound, shoulder-length hair, full breasts, naked midriff, and spread legs, revealing my already pink and puffy cunt lips. That was why I was seated on a towel. I had learned from previous encounters with daBear, my online Master.

Tell me what you are, demanded the screen.

“I’m a cunt, a slut, and your Good Girl.”

And what does it mean to be my Good Girl?

“It means I will do anything you ask of me.”

Anything?

“Yes, Master. Anything. I promise.”

Good. Then today you’re finally going to write that story you’ve been promising me.

What? I couldn’t…I swallowed hard, then started to type, “But Master, I can’t write…”

You said you would do anything I wanted, did you not? The screen interrupted as if anticipating my objection. He knew me so well…intimately, you might say.

I sat there, stunned and afraid. What was I going to do now? “Yes…” I typed back after a long pause. He was waiting. I knew he would wait me out, so there was no use trying to stall.

So, here’s how you’re going to do it. You will type a paragraph, whether one line or twenty, then after you hit “Return”, you will play with a part of your body, according to my instructions.

The first time you hit “Return”, you will massage, pull, and twist your left nipple gently for two seconds. The second time you hit “Return”, you will do the same for your right nipple. The third time, you will tap your clit gently twice. And the fourth time, you will put two fingers in your cunt, and massage your G-spot for two seconds. Then you will repeat the sequence.

When you finish the story – and not before – you will be allowed to cum. Do you understand?

I swallowed hard but knew there was no point in arguing. “Yes,” I typed.

Do you have any questions?

I thought for several moments, then typed “Yes. I type with both hands. If I stick two fingers of one hand in my cunt, they’re going to get, um, sticky, and I’ll get my cunt juice all over the keyboard. That might ruin it.”

There was a short pause, then: You’re stalling. After you take the fingers out of your cunt, put them in your mouth, and suck them clean. Okay?

I was going to reply that they would then be wet, but I knew he would see through that and tell me to wipe my wet fingers on my towel or my leg, so I typed, “Yes.”

Yes, what?

“Yes, Master. I will obey.”

Good Girl.

I felt the chill run down my spine that I always get when he says that, and I got just a little bit wetter.

On your scale of zero to ten, where are you?

Since he couldn't see me, he used this scale to find out how excited I was. Zero meant that I wasn’t interested in sex anytime this millennium. Ten meant that I was going to cum right now! I usually started at around six or seven when he contacted me, but very quickly, his words would bring me to somewhere over eight, and by the time I was approaching ten, I had to struggle not to cum until he gave me permission.

“I’m at about 6.5, Master. I was over seven, but the prospect of having to write…put a bit of a damper on me.”

We’ll fix that. When I say “Begin,” and not before, you will massage your tits with one hand, put two fingers of your other hand in your cunt to massage your G-spot while using the palm of that hand to massage your clit. You will continue until I tell you to stop. Understand?

“Yes, Master.”

Begin.

I groaned but did as he said and very quickly went well past seven and over eight. I thought he was going to bring me all the way to the edge of orgasm and then force me to beg him to let me cum, but then Stop! appeared on my screen. He had obviously been timing me and knew just how far he could push me.

Where are you now?

I thought for a moment, breathing hard and leaning over, trying to recover my equilibrium, then typed “8.4.”

That’s commendably precise. Good Girl.

 I shivered and knew that if he asked again right then, it would be about 8.7!

Any more questions before you start? Oh, and by the way, if I don’t think you’ve made an honest attempt to write a real story, you will start again – without cumming. Understand?

I gulped because I knew he was more than capable of holding me on the edge of cumming for hours if he so chose. He didn’t do it very often, but he would, every once in a while, just to remind me that he truly was in command of my body, and I had better do exactly what he wanted.

“Yes”

Any other questions before you begin?

“Yes! What do I write about?”

 (chuckles) About 1,000 words…Ready?

“No, but…”

Begin!

I thought hard. He would be patient with me at the start, but unless I did something serious, and soon, he would become impatient and punish me. His punishments ran on a sliding scale, and I desperately wanted to avoid even the mildest of them.

Finally, I swallowed, put my fingers on the keys, and started sending him my story. “Title: Sticky Fingers”

Then I hit “Return”…