Claire Thompson - Tracy in chains

That made Tracy inexplicably sad. She realized with a jolt that he was probably right; why would they meet? After all, she was a married woman. She thought back to when she had confessed this to him.

"Sir Stephen, you should know something about me." Her heart pounded, as she realized this might be the end of their 'relationship' such as it was. He was, after all, looking for a 'real life lover.'

"Yes?"

"Well, I'm married."

"I knew that, Tracy." He always called her by her 'real' name. And though he'd told her his name was Paul, she persisted in using his 'handle'. Somehow that made it more of a game; less real, and thus less dangerous.

She felt chagrined, then relieved, and curiously, disappointed. He knew? He knew there was no chance of their being lovers? Inanely she typed back, "You knew?"

"Well, I was pretty sure. Married or living with someone. Why else would you 'have to go' so suddenly sometimes? And you've always avoided answering, or changed the subject, when I've tried to maybe bring up the chance of us meeting sometime. I figured you had to be involved. My God, someone as sexy and lovely as you, unattached? Not likely."

Tracy sighed. She loved the beautiful things he typed to her. But she was surprised too, and said so. "So why do you stick around? I mean, what's the point? There's no future for us."

"I guess the point, as you say, is that I like you! I love talking to you. I love your fresh approach to things, and your willingness to honestly explore your feelings. If I'm to be totally honest, a secret part of me says, if she's always online, talking to me, things can't be that great at home. Who knows what might happen?"

That was too much for Tracy. It was one thing for her to question her own life and motives, but for Sir Stephen to do it was just too much. She typed quickly that she was very much in love with her husband and they would never, ever meet. This was just fantasy.

There was a long pause before Sir Stephen responded, and Tracy worried for a moment that she had gone and done just what she'd feared, and scared him off. She realized during that long pause that she was lying, and it was way more than just a fantasy. She had feelings, real ones, for this man she had never seen. But the die was cast, and she sat on tenterhooks, waiting for his response.

Finally, a reply scrolled across the screen. "Tracy, I believe you believe that right now, or want to believe it. I'll take whatever I can have with you. If we're just to be online friends forever, I'll take that too. For you, I'll wait a thousand years."

Something changed after that. Now that she had told him she was married and in love with her husband, it paradoxically freed her up to behave just the opposite. When he suggested that they begin to really explore her submissive feelings together, she didn't protest, but was eager to do so. Their talks became markedly more explicit, with what it was really like to be tied up, to be whipped, to be controlled in every aspect of a sexual relationship. Tracy inhaled the conversations as if they were air. She needed them to breathe.

He had gotten his picture loaded for her, and she was delighted with it. He was much older looking than Kyle, who was just her age of 28. Where Kyle was tall and thin, with thick sandy colored hair, Paul was shorter, but more heavily, solidly built. He looked strong, as if he worked out. His hair was dark and pulled back from his face. His eyes were a rich dark brown and his face was tanned. Deep lines etched on either side of his nose, which was long and regal looking, reminding Tracy of a hawk. He looked so different from Kyle, which pleased her on some level – kept them totally separate in her psyche – the tall fair Kyle, whose face was still unmarked by life's experience, and the strong, dark Paul. He looked vibrant and alive, his sensuous mouth curved in just a hint of a smile.

"Tracy, I know I'm just your 'fantasy Master' but I think we can find something real together, without compromising your relationship with your husband. I want you to begin a series of exercises to explore your true feelings; to see if what you think you want and what you're willing to do coincide."

She didn't know exactly what he was getting at, but sat still, heart in her throat, waiting for the words to scroll. What he typed next surprised her. "I want to speak with you on the telephone, Tracy. I want to talk to you, and explain what I want you to do. Are you willing, or able to do this? I have an 800 number at work, so you could call me anytime. Will you call me?"

Her heart pounding, Tracy said she would. They agreed on the next morning; Kyle left for work a good thirty minutes before she did. Nervously, Tracy punched in the number he had given her and waited, trying to catch her breath and remain calm. It rang once, twice and a third time. Shit, he wasn't there.

"Paul Wilson," a deep voice answered, somewhat breathless, as if he'd rushed to the phone.

A pause and then, shyly, "Hi."

"Tracy?" He sounded so hopeful and eager, that she couldn't help smiling as she admitted it was she.

"I'm so glad you called, Tracy. I was afraid you might change your mind."

"Well, I called." She felt tongue-tied, ridiculous, like a teenager. But his voice… It was so sexy – so deep and melodic. She loved the sound of it instantly. Paul Wilson. What a lovely name. Paul.

"Do you have time?"

"I have a little time till I have to leave for work, about fifteen minutes, I guess."

"Good. Sit down, Tracy."

Tracy sat, savoring his use of her name. One of her pet peeves with Kyle was that he never used her name. He called her 'hon' or 'babe', but for some reason he wouldn't say 'Tracy'. It confused and upset her, and she didn't understand it. Somehow it kept her at a distance, as if an imaginary hand was being held out, keeping her from him. She complained about it, but he laughed it off, or shrugged. He didn't seem to understand it himself, and she had, as with most things, let it go.

"Tracy," Paul said, "I think you're ready for a new step in your exploration of your submissive tendencies. Do you agree?"

"Yes," Tracy whispered, not sure what she was agreeing to, but very excited.

"Today you are going to test your submission to me. Now, on the phone. You are going to pull down your pantyhose and your panties, and spread your legs for me, and touch your cunt."

Tracy had heard him clearly, but couldn't believe what he was saying. All their talks up till now had been academic, hypothetical. Nothing like this, although they had discussed in detail what it meant 'to submit', and how the submissive's body 'belonged' to her owner, if she chose to give it to him.

Online, on the screen, she claimed to 'belong' to him, at least for the few moments a day when they typed to each other. But now, this flesh and blood man was talking to her across the phone lines, and his beautiful stern voice was telling her to pull down her panties.

"Tracy? Are you there? I know we don't have much time. I'm not asking much from you, just this token display. Do it. Now. For me."

Slowly, as if she were in a trance, Tracy stood and wriggled out of her confining pantyhose. She slipped her underwear down to her ankles and sat again, perched on the edge of the chair, spreading her legs as Paul had instructed her to do.

"Have you obeyed me, Tracy?" His voice was calm, deep and almost hypnotic. Tracy found that she was deeply aroused, yet curiously calm.

"Yes," she whispered, imagining the picture that she must present, stockings and panties around her ankles, bared pussy peeking between lewdly spread legs.

"Now touch it. Touch your lovely little pussy for me. Put in a finger. And tell me, is it wet? Are you wet for me, Tracy?"

Oh god. She flushed, feeling the heat flame into her neck and cheeks as she dropped her hand down to her own sex, and pressed a finger into the hot, tight opening. She wasn't wet; she was sopping. He was arousing her as Kyle had never done. He understood her in a way Kyle never could have.