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The Puppet

Disabled, lonely Claire finds sexual empowerment through her experience with a webcam performer.
When the bulbs of spring begin to rise from the musty earth, it awakens in a glistening dew of silver and a new chapter brings to pass. A new found excitement, desire or sprig of fresh hope dances between the leaves and the day drives a feeling of sudden enthusiasm.

This was the feeling that overcame me when I discovered the website. Its front page lined with vixen red and midnight black, it’s collection of exhilarating words and provocative pictures. It drew me in as if under a spell, bouncing and tumbling explicit pictures of young beaus from side to side. I hadn’t meant to find it. It was an accident. An honest mistake, but one which changed my life.

It certainly wasn’t the first porn site I had ever looked at but by far the most interesting. It held me captive to the beauty within, a woman’s very own piece of Eden perhaps? Having turned 40 this year and recently divorced from my cheating husband the instinctual craving for sex was reaching its peak. This website may just hold the key to finding sexual empowerment and satisfaction without the need for using escorts or sex workers comfortable with visiting the disabled. A road traffic accident in my teens had left me paralyzed and so the use of and discovery of a webcam site such as this may just appease my appetite for mental stimulation.

I ogled the long list of performer names, stopping at brief intervals to scrutinise faces. His face was important, more so than his penis – as I needed the visual stimulus of his attractive features rather than the imaginary, physical sensation of his wand inside me. I flicked down, further, until reaching the torso of a young man who called himself XANIER. He’d be my Mr X for short, my personal toy, my best friend, and all through the instrumentation of a live webcam.

XANIER: Hi bb.

Claire: Hi. Where are you from?

XANIER: Brazil. Shall we go to private?

Private is just that – private. It’s a cyber space room which allows you and your chosen performer to engage in video, audio and text chat together, away from the prying eyes of freeloaders. I wanted to take him to a private room; I did, but not just yet. I wanted to watch his interaction with others, how he worked, how he drew them in, how he tactically used unique techniques to encourage westerners to part with their money.

His attempts were superior to his fellow colleagues, most of whom looked bored, tired and ramshackle. His vibrancy and vigour radiated from his camera, consuming his onlookers, thwarting his associates from earning a penny of our money. He deserved it. He was the perfect puppet. He stood up, he sat down, he flexed, bent over and smiled, never with an inkling of bitterness or regret. I call them puppets because they were like toys on strings, perfectly proportioned, sexually fuelled meat suits for us to play with whenever the mood struck.

I had 30 left in my account and was happy to use the lot on him. He had already worked for my 30, earned it honestly. Whatever he gave to me thereafter was bonus time in my eyes and so I took a deep breath, opened my blouse, tucked the wheel chair tightly under the desk and clicked on PRIVATE.

His fingers teased me immediately as he ran his hand lightly over his chest, stroking his silky skin, never breaking a moment’s eye contact with the camera lens. He was gazing deep into my eyes, through a magical portal of sexual current which spluttered out gallons of electromagnetic spark, tension and radioactive horsepower which filled the holes in my sex drive like cement to a sandpit. His chocolate brown hair fell down the nape of his neck and thin strands of his beautiful locks stuck to his skin from the sweat which ran down the centre dip of his back. The camera zoomed in closer, he took me with him, face first into the impenetrable stone of stomach muscle that formed eight square ridges of pure testosterone fuelled flesh and then down the snake of hair grinding me to a sudden halt, sat like a queen on the top of his mons pubis. I waited impatiently, longing to slide down onto his cock, longing to view the size, the shape, the colour of his kingdom, the way it hung, to the left, to the right? The expectant version of an un-cut dick, the probable hanging basket of his tight, hair free balls that he would play with for me whilst I imagined tea bagging each one in turn as his hands groped and squeezed at my breasts. I was lost in a space of nothingness but him and me, my puppet, my flawless toy who submitted obligingly to my every demand and commandment.

Claire: I wish I was there with you.

XANIER: Want to see more Princess?

Claire: Yes.

The camera slowly continued down, his hand gripping the base of his cock, flexing the muscle down towards his feet revealing his tanned shaft inch by inch until it settled on the huge purple bell of his penis. He pulled the foreskin gradually over the tip until the rim popped out calling at me to run my tongue around the pink overhang. As he pushed and pulled the foreskin up and down he gently thrusted his hips towards the lens in sync with his sexual innuendos and my imagination teamed with scenarios of filthy positions we could theoretically participate in.

He had swallowed 15 of my 30 yet we had only just begun. I wanted more from him, arsehole, audio and eye contact.

Claire: Turn around please.

Bound by financial contract he walked backwards towards the white stonewash wall of his studio. His full torso, legs and face were in perfect view and looked as delicious as a plate of strawberries. Grinning, watching the camera, knowing the power and control he held over me XANIER turned around and grappled at his buttocks, clenching the two large muscles together and then relaxing them for a slapping. They vibrated at each gentle spank and then formed solid peaks of steal momentarily afterwards. He winked before spreading his legs and athletically bent forwards to expose two perfectly formed bollocks dangling between his thighs. His palm appeared between his legs and he scooped his balls up towards his cock before letting them quickly fall again and then lowing his toned, 6ft body to the floor he resumed a doggy style position and pounded his cock into his gripping hand. His balls bounced in circles at every swift and perfected move and I sat in front of my screen imagining my face was underneath him. I could taste the imaginary sweat of his body, the salty aftertaste of his cum on my lips and the flavour of his aftershave which rested upon his collarbones. I could smell the imaginary aroma of his shirt, the essence of his tumbling hair and the fragrance of the cigarette which lay burning in the ashtray by the bed.

The sun light cast striped shadows over his hard stone floor as he worked his body to please me, hungrily eating at the money which trickled evenly at a dollar per minute into his PayPal account. I was down to my last 2, disappointed but equally fulfilled at the same time.

XANIER: Did you enjoy me today?

Claire: Every second, thank you.

We talked a little about nothing before the time ticked to my last few seconds. I glared longingly at the computer screen, needing to take into me those last few glances of his body. I adored him, needed him and loved him all in one feeling. His role had been to fulfil a need without prejudice or judgement, a role which can only be executed successfully by the performance of two people separated vastly by distance and time and by a man who’s ignorance to my disabilities safeguard my full desires for sexual empowerment. XANIER had done this and my admiration for him had been left unmatched against any man who had entered my life over my entire existence. For this, I truly thanked him.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © © Copyright 2013. Copyright Ashleigh Valenta.

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