Ethan: Now touch yourself. But don’t come. Not unless I say.
My thighs clench. I know I should saynoorthis is insane, but all I do is type:
Me: Yes, Sir.
The dots blink back instantly.
Ethan: Good girl.
Ethan: Now tell me. Are you wet?
My breath shudders out of me. I slide one hand lower, past the waistband of my leggings. I’m soaked. Humiliatingly,desperatelysoaked.
Me: Yes.
Ethan: I want you to drag your fingers through it. Slow. Stay at the top. Don’t go deeper yet.
I do as he says, pressing light circles, barely-there pressure. It’sagonizing. Every nerve ending is tuned to his words now.
Ethan: That’s it.
You want to be used, don’t you?
My lips part, but no sound comes out. I type it instead.
Me: Yes. But not by anyone.
Only you.
Ethan: You're learning fast.
There’s a pause, then another message.
Ethan: Slide one finger in. Just one. Feel how tight you are?
I gasp. My finger sinks in easily, but the ache formoreis already unbearable.
Ethan: You’ve got no idea how good you’d feel wrapped around me, baby girl.
I’d stretch you slow, hold you down, make you feel every inch until you begged for more. Would you beg?
I moan aloud, eyes fluttering closed.
Me: I already am.
Ethan: Two fingers. Now.
My breath stutters as I obey. The stretch is real, but it’s nothing compared to how empty I feel. I want him like I’ve never wanted anything.
Ethan: Good girl.
Now press your palm flat over your clit while your fingers stay inside. Grind slow. I want you desperate.
I whimper. My hips roll into my hand as I do what he says. It’s too much and not enough at once.
Ethan: You don’t get to come until I say.
You’ll hold it. Or I’ll stop.
