Cybersex in BDSM Chains

Friday afternoon finally rolls around, and I’m out of the office as fast as I can manage, tossing my stuff into my bag and practically sprinting to freedom. As I head to my car, I catch a few lingering stares sliding over me, sizing me up. A little shiver runs through me – I love dressing to turn heads, though I keep it tame for work. Nothing too wild, just sharp and fitted. Today, I went with a knee-length pencil skirt, ankle boots, and a tucked-in blouse, all topped off with a cropped denim jacket. Everything’s in deep navy, my go-to color. In my rush this morning, though, I forgot to put on any underwear – oops.

Driving home, my mind bounces between random nonsense and those stares from earlier. The thought of them sends a slow heat pooling between my legs, and I can feel myself getting wet. God, I love how turned on I get.

Once I’m home, I head straight for the shower. I strip down, step under the hot water, and let it soak into me. The steam amps up my arousal, and I can’t resist – my hands slide up to my chest, squeezing hard, tugging at my nipples. The sharp sting feels so good. My fingers drift lower, finding myself already dripping. I give myself a few firm slaps down there, then slip two fingers inside, pumping fast. My other hand explores further back, and soon I’ve got two fingers there too. I’m so close, teetering on the edge, but I stop myself. “Not yet, you greedy little slut,” I mutter, stepping out to dry off.

Still buzzing with need, I head to my computer, naked, and fire it up. I’m itching to watch something filthy to push me further. I settle into my chair, legs parted, teasing myself lightly as the screen glows to life. Then a message pings in.

Stranger: Hey, slut, you horny too?

It’s a cheesy line, but the way he names me hits just right.

Me: Yeah, as usual. You?

Stranger: A little. You submissive?

Me: Oh, very.

Stranger: You follow orders?

Me: Yes, I do.

Stranger: Even at your computer?

Me: Yep, right here.

Stranger: Good, you filthy little thing. Go grab some stuff – rope, handcuffs, a dildo or vibe, an anal plug if you’ve got one, clothespins, a collar, a pair of your worn panties. Then put on some heels, slut, and hurry up.

I’m already a mess of want, and tearing myself away from the screen feels like torture, but I’m a good girl – eager and obedient – so I scramble to gather everything. On the way back, I slip into my favorite red stilettos, 4-inch heels with a slight platform. They make me feel powerful and dirty all at once. I plop back down at the computer.

Me: Your dirty girl’s got everything.

Stranger: Nice. Shove that plug up your ass and tie your tits tight.

I lick the plug quick and ease it in – my breath hitches as it settles, and I’m leaking now, crazy for anything anal. Then I wrap the rope around my chest, cinching it hard. The ache is delicious, and it’s all I can do not to touch myself.

Me: Done, just like you wanted, Sir.

Stranger: Tell me where you’re sitting, you nasty pig, and clip four clothespins around each nipple, one right on each tip.

I attach the pins as ordered – the pain’s sharp and perfect, and I’m losing myself to the haze of it.

Me: Sir, the pins are on. I’m in a cushy office chair at my desk.

Stranger: Describe the chair, every detail, you brainless trash.

Me: Sorry for being so dumb, Sir. It’s a black cushioned chair on wheels, with armrests on both sides.

Stranger: Perfect, slut. Hook your legs through the armrests so you’re spread wide, showing off that wet mess. Stuff those filthy panties in your mouth and gag yourself with them.

This guy’s driving me wild – his tone, his demands. I shove the panties in, tying a rope around my head to keep them there. The humiliation’s intoxicating. I position myself as he wants, legs splayed, the plug sinking deeper as I shift. A muffled moan escapes me.

Me: I’m ready, Sir.

Stranger: Good, you worthless toy. Now take a rope and bind your legs together.

I grab the rope, loop it around my left ankle, and pull tight. It’s tricky with my legs spread like this, but I manage after a minute. The helplessness feels incredible. My chair’s already slick beneath me – I’m a dripping mess, a blessing and a curse. Guys love it, but it’s a liability in the wrong outfit.

Me: Sir, my legs are tied. Please, can I touch myself? I’m so wet, I’m begging.

Stranger: No, you disgusting piece of trash, not yet. Put on your collar and tighten it till you can barely breathe.

I slip the collar on, yanking it snug like he says. How does he know I get off on this? The choke of it, the way it mimics a hand on my throat during sex – it’s a rush, a reminder of how little I matter. I love it.

Me: Collar’s on, Sir.

Stranger: Such an obedient bitch. Does it have rings, slut?

Me: Yes, Sir, three – two on the sides, one in front.

Stranger: Excellent, you pathetic thing. You’ve earned this. Time for the big finish.

Me: Thank you, Sir! I’m a desperate slut and so grateful for what’s coming.

Stranger: Turn on your vibe and wedge it against your clit, let it drive you wild. But pull it away right before you come, you filthy pig, and report back.