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An Evening with the Webcam 01

I have an interesting night planned for you. I want you to be nice and clean when we start. Strip and take a shower. I'll watch. When you're done, bring the toy bag out to the living room and wait for further instructions.

The words in the chat window were enough to make my heart start racing. I smiled at the round unwinking eye of the tiny camera clipped to my laptop. He was off somewhere in some anonymous hotel room in Mumbai, and I could already imagine him loosening his clothes.

I rose from the couch and began unbuttoning my blouse, already feeling the excitement rising inside me. I let my hands wander over my body, caressing myself through the thin cotton of the blouse, before I slipped it off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. I could feel his eyes on me like a physical thing through the unwavering gaze of the camera, as I unhooked the bra and slid my hands over my breasts, feeling my nipples harden.

Our relationship is built on a simple premise: he tells me what to do, and I do it. When we first met six years ago, I'd just come out of a long and vaguely dissatisfying relationship, perfect in every way save that I always had an undefined sense that I was missing something. When we met, it didn't take long to figure out what that was, and my life now looks nothing like my life then.

It's not really that simple, of course. Investment banker by day, sex slave by night... it's more complicated than it sounds. Especially when he accepted the promotion to field engineer,, a job that requires quite a lot of travel. During the past year we've developed a system for keeping our relationship going even over long distances. Part of that system is the network of tiny cameras and microphones in every room of the house, all connected to a server computer in the closet, running custom software he's written. When I turn on the cameras, he can see and hear everything in the house, and talk to me through a chat window. I can't see or hear him, partly because he likes to travel light and take only the smallest amount of computer gear with him that he can, but mostly because he likes the detachment of communicating with me through text.

I bent over, slipping off my shoes, then unhooked the skirt and let it fall. Naked, I caressed my body with my hands again, feeling myself beginning to get wet already. He likes when I wear skirts with nothing underneath; easier access, he says.

With a smile and wink over my shoulder to the camera in the corner near the ceiling, I walked into the bathroom, knowing his eyes would follow me. The camera in the bathroom is mounted just above the door, where it looks into the large glass-enclosed walk-in shower. I flipped on the water, letting it warm up while I went into the bedroom to pick up a prop; he'd been teasing me all day, sending me text messages on my phone to let me know that he had something very special lined up for me this evening, so I decided to return the favor by giving him a special show during my shower. He's always enjoyed watching me shower, and a little turnabout is fair play.

I walked back into the bathroom and stepped into the shower, letting the spray of water envelop me. A part of me wondered what the evening's entertainments would hold; when he's out of town, he loves watching me put on shows for him, and he tells me what to do to myself in front of the camera as he watches, but tonight he had something new up his sleeve, and my curiosity was only making me more excited.

I leaned back under the water, closing my eyes and shuddering slightly, and ran my fingers through my long black hair. Stepping out from under the showerhead, I poured a large dollop of shampoo into my hand and began lathering my hair, letting the thick sudsy lather run down my back. I turned toward the clear glass shower door, making sure the camera had a good view as I ran my soapy hands down over my body, fondling and caressing my breasts. I felt my nipples grow harder as I touched myself, soaping my breasts thoroughly.

I picked up the toy I'd brought into the shower with me from the other room—a long double-ended dildo. I slid one hand sensuously along the dildo, stroking it and soaping it up, then began sliding it between my lathered breasts. I leaned back against the wall of the shower, arching my back and sliding the dildo slowly up and down between my breasts, my eyes closed. Very gradually, I began increasing my tempo, running the long silicone toy faster and faster between my breasts as I slid my other hand over my body, fondling myself and pinching my nipples.

I moaned, just loud enough for the microphone to pick up over the sound of the running water, then reached out and picked up my bottle of body wash. Holding the bottle high over my body, I squeezed it in a series of short, sharp motions. Jets of thick white body wash spurted over my body and the dildo; I cried out as they spattered over me. I continued squeezing the bottle, moaning each time the body wash splattered me, as I ran the dildo between my breasts.

Finally, I set down the bottle and looked at myself. My breasts and body were covered in thick lather from the shampoo, and my neck, shoulders, breasts, belly, and legs were splattered all over with creamy white body wash. I set down the soapy dildo and picked up a sponge, wetting it in the streaming water from the shower, and began washing myself. The sponge soon became very soapy as I scrubbed myself. I slid the sponge between my legs and squeezed, sending sudsy water coursing down my inner thighs as I pressed the slightly rough sponge against my clit. It didn't take long before I felt my orgasm beginning to build, my heart hammering wildly as the tension mounted. Picking up the soapy dildo, I plunged it into my desperate pussy, penetrating myself deeply; I screamed involuntarily, throwing my head back, then just as quickly withdrew it and dropped it to the shower floor.

One of the rules of our relationship is that I am not allowed to come without permission. I took my hands away and leaned against the wall, gasping, my body shuddering, my orgasm so close I could almost feel it; then, as the feelings subsided and my heart slowed, I stepped under the shower.. I was so desperately aroused I could barely stand, and found myself leaning on one arm against the shower as I rinsed myself off. I suspected that in some nameless hotel room half a continent away, Robin was almost as aroused himself.

Finally, I turned off the shower and stepped out, drying myself with a big, fluffy blue towel. I put on a gauzy, translucent robe, and went back into the bedroom. I picked up the box of toys from its place beneath the nightstand and went back out into the living room, where I seated myself on the couch in front of my laptop. "What did you think?" I asked, smiling at the tiny camera.

Very nice.

"I'm all nice and clean now," I said. "Did you enjoy the show?"

I don't think you're clean at all. I think you are a very, very dirty girl.

I flushed slightly. "I'm not dirty! I just took a shower!"

Some kinds of dirt can't be washed away. Are you wet between your legs?

I leaned back on the couch, letting the robe fall open as I spread my legs wide. I slid one finger into my mouth, parting my lips just enough to flick my tongue against it, then ran my fingertips very lightly down my body and over my breasts. I continued moving them down across my belly and over my mound, then slipped one finger inside myself, causing my breath to catch in my throat. "Yes," I gasped, feeling the juices pour around my finger.

You like being a dirty little slut, don't you? I bet you're pretty worked up right now.

I whimpered, eyes half-closed, running my finger in small circles inside myself.

Stop what you're doing. Stand up and take off your robe. Let me see you.

I whimpered as I slid my finger out, then rose from the couch. I ran my hands up my body, then slid the gossamer robe from my shoulders and let it fall.

Good girl. I want you to show off that body of yours. Get the oil and oil yourself up.

I reached down and opened the box at my feet and withdrew the small vial of massage oil. I poured the oil into my hands, and began caressing myself, oiling my arms and neck, then running my hands down my sides, smoothing the oil over the sides of my breasts. I lifted one leg onto the coffee table, giving the camera mounted to my computer a close up view of my pussy as I oiled my leg. I repeated the process with my other leg, stroking and caressing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs as I oiled myself. I stepped back, my body glistening.

Very nice. You look positively delightful. Grab your breasts.

I slid my hands over my breasts, feeling my nipples harden again. "Mmm..."

Not like that. Now listen very carefully. From now on, your hands are my hands. When I tell you to touch yourself, I want you to picture my hands doing the touching, do you understand?

I nodded. "Yes..."

Good. Put some more oil in your hands.

I picked up the oil and spread it over my hands, entranced, watching the message on the screen that told me he was still typing.

Now grab your breasts HARD! Your hands are my hands, and I intend to be rough with you this evening. You know the way I like to touch you. Do it!

I grabbed my breasts and twisted them, harder than I had intended to. A cry escaped my lips, and I felt myself plummeting into that place where I became his, completely, and everything he did was bliss. My hands, unbidden, continued to squeeze and twist my breasts roughly; I felt my fingers—his fingers—bite down tightly on my nipples, and I cried out again. I felt them pull, stretching my nipples and clamping down still harder, until I gasped in pain.

Good girl. Sit down on the couch and spread your legs nice and wide. Keep squeezing your breasts with one hand. With the other, shove those fingers hard into that delicious little cunt of yours.
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