He said, “Good girl.”
His voice shivered over her skin, and she slowly peeled her denim jeans down her legs and used her toes to push them over her bare feet.
Luckily, she was still wearing her blue button-down shirt from work rather than a tee that went over her head, so she worked the buttons through the buttonholes and shrugged it off behind her.
“The bra,” he said. “Off.”
Colleen wrenched her arms behind her back and unhooked her utilitarian beige bra, sliding it down her arms. Her shoulders and lungs relaxed without the tight band around her ribcage.
“Show them to me.”
She glanced up at the monitor where pale-blue lines traced Twist’s cheekbones and knuckles where his hands rested on the arms of his chair. She asked, “Aren’t you going to undress?”
“No, and that was not the correct response. Show me your breasts, and pinch your nipple hard, like I would to punish you for not saying yes, please.”
These commands were all uncharted territory for Colleen. Heck, she’d never even done it with the lights on before.
Hesitantly, she cupped her breasts and lifted them toward the camera, where Twist sat immobile.
“Pinch yourself. The left one. Hard.”
She did.
If someone had told her that she would be in this situation, standing in front of a computer with her boobs hanging out and doing what some guy she’d never met told her to, including pinching her own boob so hard it hurt, she’d have told that person they were crazy.
But she took her nipple between her fingertips and watched the monitor for some sign from Twist that she was doing it right or that she had done enough.
She pinched.
At first, it felt weird and it hurt, and then her fingertips sliding on the tip of her nipple sent shivers through her skin.
Her teeth parted, and she sucked in the slightest of gasps. Her eyes felt a little too big on her face under the jewelry and veil.
He said, “Good girl.”
The shiver passed over her again.
Colleen still held her boobs in her hands. “Yes, please.”
“Stroke and toy with them like my tongue and teeth are teasing you.”
She had a feeling he would be a lot better at it than she was, so she did her best to do what a man like Twist would do to her, stroking the undersides and thumbing the peaks as she watched him watch her touch herself.
“Move one hand up to your throat and squeeze,” he growled.
She did, feeling the compression in her larynx as her hand wrapped around her throat.
“Now pinch your other breast.”
She did it. She did everything immediately and without question, and she whispered, “Yes, please.”
“Keep playing with your breasts, and sit back on the chair and open your legs so I can look at you.”
She sat back down on her chair, bobbling as it rolled backward, and she spread her knees open and leaned back for the tiny green light of the camera on the top of her monitor.
“More. Hook your knees over the arms of the chair.”
Colleen did, though she had to haul one of her thighs over it. She wasn’t a gymnast. Dang, that was awkward.
