[adult content] Chat

She looked up from the keyboard nervously.

"Do it," he said, looking down at her; she was on the floor at his feet, the laptop resting on its board on her crossed legs.  She was naked but for the chain metal collar that circled her throat, and the leash leading from it to his wrist.  He sat in a comfortable chair, using the desktop computer.  Both computers were at the login page of a chat site.  She'd entered the name he'd directed her to use for the session: kneeling_slut.  His was Slut'sMaster.

"Do it," he said again, and she hit the 'enter' key that would log her into the chat room as he had already done.

There were rooms within the chat; some seemed social, non-playing, to go by the names.  Others were obviously intended for other purposes.

He typed, and she saw a new room pop up; a private room with the password in the title.  He'd called it 'fuck my wife'.

"Into the room," he said, and she obediently clicked on the title, entered the password.

Others entered quickly.

Do your work, slut, he typed; everyone in the room could read it.

She responded obediently.  I am a slut, she typed. My Master has opened this room to allow anyone who wants to use me to do so.  In any way.

Then she sat and waited for the responses.

They came, thick and fast: a virtual gangbang, and he directed her to ignore nobody.  Anyone, no matter how crude, was welcomed.  Open conversation in the room he'd set up, private messages; she had to take them all.

In a private message conversation, one man fucked her up the ass, describing her screaming in pain.  In another, she sucked a man's cock to great mutual pleasure.  In a third, a man held her gently, bringing her to climax, encouraging her to then ride him.  In the main room, she endured being ordered to call herself a whore and a slut, crawling and begging for cock for the amusement of the participants before they fucked her.

And, in the living room, she moaned softly, still typing as he came to kneel behind her, fingering her clit, fucking her with his fingers, holding his slick and dripping fingers up for her to lick.  When she lifted her fingers from the keyboard, though, moaning softly in pleasure, he slapped her face lightly.  "Don't forget what you're supposed to be doing," he said.

She bent obediently to the keyboard again, feeling his fingers returning to her clit.  When he was closest to her, she could feel his cock through his jeans; hard as a rock, and she whimpered at the sudden, vivid flash in her mind.  Not memory, not imagination; as real, all-encompassing as living it, she was drowned in the thought and sensation of him within her.  She shuddered, half-turning to him, greedy for the touch and taste, before a jerk on the leash and collar reminded her of what she was supposed to be doing.

"If you do well tonight," he said, "you'll get what you need."

She typed, not caring about the typos and mistakes.

"Good little whore," he whispered, his fingers as dextrous on her body as hers were on the keyboard.  She moaned, didn't lift her fingers from the keyboard, satisfying - in type - all comers.  Knowing that, later, he'd be doing the same to her, taking his pleasure from her...