Last night Sir called me. I was very excited to hear his voice. Soothing and warm like caramel, yet sharp and firm when needed or deserved.
We haven’t met in the flesh before, so when, on occasion I’m allowed to hear him, I find it very hard to control myself. He usually doesn’t let me touch myself unless I’ve been a particularly good girl. So when he calls me, I find it especially difficult to obey his instructions not to touch. ‘Masturbation is a selfish act,’ Sir says, for a filthy wannabe cock sleeve like me.
When we started the call, I couldn’t hide my excitement, which showed in my fast breathing, almost gasping for air. Sir gave me a few reminders. ‘Don’t be nervous. Take deep breaths. When you spin out of control just hold on to me. I am your rock.’ I took deep breaths for him, steadying myself. ‘Remember I own you. You’re mine and I’m not going to leave you’ he said, trickling a deep sense of pain and companionship down my spine. I’ve been having a tough time recently, so such words are particularly meaningful.