"It's time," said Rob.

Christine obediently followed him up the ladder to the loft. She'd been anxiously waiting for him to finally declare it "time," but she didn't rush him. Partly because it wasn't her place to, and partly so she could savour the anticipation. It wasn't just that she might finally be permitted to have an orgasm. It was the thrill more than anything else. The adrenaline rush. For an hour each week, she was freed from her identity and reputation, freed from social expectations. This freedom was attained through anonymity and, paradoxically, slavery. When equally anonymous strangers commanded her to do something degrading, it wasn't her fault; she had to obey, or she would be punished. Although she had to go along with every reasonable demand made by a total stranger, it didn't necessarily mean that she enjoyed doing each individual thing they made her do. A lot of the things she did, she wouldn't have done by herself for the sake of doing them. It's not like she was a slut or anything. She just indulged in an hour of escapism every week.

Within minutes, she was in the familiar situation, sitting helplessly in the middle of the varnished wooden floor. Her ankle was encased in an iron shackle that tethered her via a heavy chain to a metal loop in the middle of the floor. This week, she was wearing a sports bra that hugged her breasts tightly, and a matching pleated miniskirt. She never had understood the cheerleader fantasy, although she had to concede that the revealing outfit showed off her athletic figure.

Her boyfriend, Rob, chose a different outfit for her to wear almost every week, but one familiar item had returned this evening: the chastity belt. Her usual chastity belt was the normal kind, designed only to prevent her from having sex or even masturbating. The only time she was free from it, besides special occasions such as her birthday, was when she was chained to the loft floor. During most of those sessions the most private part of her body was encased only in clothes, allowing her to show off her figure in swimwear or lingerie. During the rare sessions in which she was free to use her hands, it even allowed her to masturbate, providing the person dominating her that week permitted it.

Sometimes, like now, she was instead wearing her usual chastity belt's even more elaborate counterpart. Thanks to electronics she didn't care to know the details of, the dildo sealed safely inside her could be made to vibrate or to give an electric shock - whichever the stranger giving her orders felt she deserved. Only regulars were allowed to dominate her when she wore it. After months of playing this strange game, no one had given her unwarranted or excessive shocks. The system seemed to worked perfectly.

Christine glanced around her. The usual objects were within her reach, strewn across the floor: a handful of restraints, gags and dildos that no doubt someone would order her to use on herself. This week the dildos were merely for humiliation, as thanks to the chastity belt, the only thing she could do with them was simulate fellatio.

A thick marker pen and large pad of paper provided her only means of talking back to the people who commanded her. The only person in the room with her was Rob. The stranger dominating her would communicate with her via the internet. While the individual's orders and degrading comments were fed through an eerily clinical sounding speech synthesiser, coming through loud and clear on a speaker, the video feed was an amateur operation limited to a handful of silent pictures every second. No one except Rob could see her cute writhing or hear her arousing moans and helpless protests until he released the higher quality recording on their FTP site an hour later.

Christine stared into the cold, heartless lens of the camera. It was always watching her. It never moved, but it was at the end of the room, and the chain tethering her to the floor didn't allow her enough movement to escape its constant gaze. Even if she walked as close to the camera as her chain would allow, standing tall, her whole body from head to toe would still be captured for everyone to see. For an hour each week, her every move was scrutinised, recorded, and viewed by hundreds of total strangers. That was the thrill: letting herself submit completely, to practically be someone else, or maybe even to be her true self.

Her friends would never understand, Christine realised. She obviously couldn't tell them what she got up to each week. She wanted to tell her best friend, Karen, of the sheer thrill she indulged in, but she couldn't. She wouldn't understand. What would she think of her? Christine had a reputation to keep. This would remain a little secret between her, Rob, and a few hundred anonymous strangers.

"How often do you masturbate?" asked the calm, synthetic voice. Christine still had her hands free, and as usual the result was a series of probing questions. She scribbled an answer on the pad, hoping it would please the regular who had asked the question. Whoever he was - or whoever she was, although she shuddered at that possibility - he went under the alias of Master K.

"NOT AS MUCH AS I'D LIKE TO," she admitted in large capital letters. "MY MASTER RARELY PERMITS IT," she added on the next sheet of paper. She thought back to the last time she'd been able to masturbate. It had been in front of the same camera, in a rare moment of freedom from either chastity belt. A different stranger had told her to grope and finger herself. At the time, she'd been glad to finally have the opportunity, and she had to admit that being ordered to pleasure herself in front of an audience had increased her arousal even further.

Master K must have approved of her response as she felt her chastity belt's vibrator purr into action for a few precious seconds, maybe even ten or fifteen this time. "THANK YOU," she scribbled in response.

"You're welcome, slave," came the cool reply. "Now strip for me. Slowly. If you do it well enough, I will reward you for much longer than a few seconds."

Christine had lost track of time, as usual. It felt like there wasn't long left until the video feed ended. The session so far had got her more than a little worked up, and a sustained vibration administered by Master K would more than likely be her only chance to have an orgasm until next week. She was determined to take it.

Putting down the pen and paper, she looked straight into the camera before crawling up to it on her hands and knees, the chain rattling behind her. It snapped taut as she reached the limit of her circle. She blew Master K a kiss, then stood up. She gently swung her hips as she slid her hands slowly down her curvaceous sides, her thumbs sliding inside her skirt's waistband. As if changing her mind, she slid them back up again, across her stomach so her arms crossed by the time her hands were on her breasts. She turned around, glancing back at the camera before turning completely away from it. She grabbed the bottom of her sports bra, and in one slick motion pulled it over her head. With her back still facing the camera, she lifted the bra on a single finger, letting it hang off her fingertip for a few seconds before it fell to the floor. Her hands covered her breasts again when she turned around to face the camera once more.

Slowly, she let her hands move away, until only her fingertips covered her nipples. She smiled as she felt a surge of confidence. Suddenly, her dildo started vibrating again. She couldn't tell whether Master K was showing approval or trying to make her slip up and reveal more. She stayed still, her smile turning into one that reflected a primitive pleasure, and the dildo stopped again.