Vocabulary Prison

Often my time with my Master starts casual, even friendly. Beyond being Master and Slave we are also friends and companions and enjoy spending time together at the end of each day. We don’t play every night, but we do connect every night. As we have come to spend our time together more and more I’d given up trying to predict when his playful side would rise up, and as with all things it is only his decision for when we play. Until he feels ready for games I adore just talking and laughing with my Master.

This night was no exception. In fact I knew Master was feeling tired and not up for play. Hearing the fatigue in his voice I began to nudge him to retire – he needed sleep and I wanted him to get it. I pushed. I pressed. I nudged and coaxed and cajoled and he put up with me for a while, knowing that my nagging was born of concern and care. But at some point he must have lost his patience with my comments, comments, comments. I felt a ripple, so tiny that I’d never have noted it. Except that my words were suddenly not my own.

This is not the first time Master has filtered my words. Sometimes I don’t understand what change he has imposed until I hear the foreign sentence fall from my lips. Sometimes I feel the change in my mind when I try to form sentences. Such was the change this time. The words of “seriously, don’t you think its time to head to sleep?” in my mind melted into a much more pleasing, worshipful “You always know what’s best, Master.” As the words came out I could hear the satisfied smile on his face. All other words stuck in my throat, and as I struggled silently he chuckled and asked “something wrong?”

I wanted to answer him, but none of the sentences I wanted to say would come from me. They changed; shifted and reformed themselves to fit his vision. To be the words he wished me to say. To fit my proper status and praise him.

“I love it when you play.” I moaned.

“I know you do.” He smiled in return. He asked, when again I fell silent, “Cat got your tongue?” I could only gasp helplessly.

“Not cat…”

Gradually Master coaxed me to let the words he’d given me come forth freely. At the same time, enjoying my verbal prison, I heard him begin to slide his hand up and down his cock.

I love, love, very much love to hear my Master pleasure himself. To hear him bring himself to climax rocks me more than when I stroke myself. He knows how I adore the sound, knowing that he’s bring himself to the brink, and he allows his sounds to come forth just to get to me. As I blathered on, telling him the thoughts I could no longer keep to myself, he used my helplessness as fuel to his fire and rocked me in return.

I told him that I had been fantasizing about dancing for him next we are together. He had taken me body’s control a few weeks ago and made me dance for him, and though I’d blushed and cowered at the time the feeling of being his living puppet had stayed with me. Now I confessed to him that I’d imagined swaying and rocking my body for him, shedding my clothing and then running my hands up and down my naked body, over my tits, down between my legs – whatever would please Master.

By now I could hear him panting and gasping with his own pleasure and I fell quiet to enjoy it myself. My body writhed on the bed, hands stroking between my legs and hips bucking excitedly. I asked him for permission to touch myself, knowing that he would enjoy me coming with him to the end. I gasped to him “Master, can I touch myself?” and allowed my hand to stray down in anticipation of his answer.

“No.”

I was shocked and did not hide the surprise as I replied “No?”

“No.” he said, even more firmly. I whimpered and pouted at this surprise. But he was not finished. “You will listen, but not touch. After we are done with this call you will fuck yourself until you cum, screaming my name.”

I lay, still on the verge of explosion but my hands trapped at my sides, and listened to him play with himself. I continued to worship him verbally, telling him how I wanted only to please him and serve him and make him happy. That he was the center of my universe. That I could never get enough of his control and his ownership. And as I wracked my brain for the next adoring words he came, his breath coming in glorious, rough exhales. I shuddered, so close to the edge I feared I’d come before his ordered time.

Once finished, and knowing that I could not finish his assignment until we’d signed off, he quickly closed our call. He left me alone, my hands rushing to my cunt to finish what he had started. I was so close, so overwhelmed with lust that it took no time at all for me to join him in orgasm. And as commanded, as my fingers were coated with my juice, I screamed out his name loud. Very loud.

With that my mind returned to normal. Sadly.