[snippet of a long-distance conversation]

F: Because of your teasing, I send you a hug that is so-o hard, that it hurts you a bit.

M: A rib-crushing hug does sound nice.

F: It wasn't meant to be nice! And just now I would like to do that to you in person--and even harder. Oh, your poor ribs...

M: And then what would you do to me to make it up to me?

F: Because I have been so bad to you--that I have broken your ribs--I have to do anything you wish to make it up to you... Master, I obey your every word! Just tell me what you want me to do to for the evil deed I have done...

M: Oh really?

Then you _have_ followed my directions. You await me, kneeling on the bed, your lovely ass poking up in invitation as your back slopes your head to the pillow. You wear nothing but the softest, silkiest, skimpiest panties you own.

You try not to laugh at the sight of me walking into the room wearing nothing but about thirty feet of medical tape wrapped around my torso.

I go and sit in a comfortable chair at the foot of the bed, my vision directly between--indeed directed there--by the splay of your legs, to the treasure concealed by a pouch of light fabric, the inspiring curvature of your ass above.

You know what to do. Tentatively you slide a hand to that very spot, where your panties nearly disappear between your legs. You cup yourself, then let a finger slowly define the cleft of your womanly wonder, teasing the cloth up into the fold.

You are to masturbate. I want to watch you play with yourself through your panties until you come.

You could probably climax much more quickly by being allowed to slip your hand under the elastic, the touch of your fingers against the flesh of your cunt familiar and knowing.

But I want your panties thoroughly soaked in the juices of your pleasure. When I eventually leave your place, I intend to take them with me, placing them under my pillow to ensure that my dreams be always sweet and fragrant and full of you.

The thing is, you usually love yourself in the shower. You've told me as well that you don't think you could actually bring yourself off while under my gaze.

Better change that tune fast!

I'm a good sport; I give you a good couple minutes head-start. I have a watch to time the interval. After that, every thirty seconds you're still trying, I reach over and give your ass an open-palmed smack. I start off soft, then get harder--my hand _and_ my cock! Gradually you shift into a train of sounds: smack: quick grunt, long moan. Smack: quick grunt, long moan. You surrender yourself to the rhythm, knowing my hand is never going to more than redden your skin.

After not that long but still all of a sudden you begin to give in to yourself. All your limbs start to tremble. Neither of us guess how close you are. All your sounds and movements state you're still well- climbing your peak. Twenty-five seconds. You mark another rise in your ascent--twenty-eight--but then the small spike you drive strikes lava. And you are spurted high and hot into a space you've rarely known.

But it's too late to stop my hand. I watch helplessly as it swings to, a final swat on your swollen bottom, you too lost to sing a remand as you sink to the sand, drilling through layers of pleasure.

That was an undeserved spank. Though your limbs are all but collapsed, I insist on tugging the twist of your panties all the way free down past your feet. Then I lean forward to make amends.

Quietly I croon and caress the reddened flesh of your ass. I kiss you, gently. The curves of your most secret parts. My tongue and nose guide me down deeper into your treasures. This isn't the moistness of simple lust. I spread your swollen lips with my fingers, nestling my lower lip around the stiff tip of your clit, my tongue darting inside your well- exposed cunt--your cunt that is greedy to bring me pleasure. The same way my cock truly desires nothing more than to pleasure you repeatedly. These sentiments possess the very purity of love.