Taking it Online

Jack and Sara have been in a long-distance relationship for nearly ten months. With very few opportunities for exploring their wants and desires in person, they’ve been adapting to getting to know each other’s bodies online. Recently, their interest in BDSM has come to the fore, and it’s Jack’s turn to take charge on their next video call.

Squiggle divider

At 8pm, Jack is relaxing with a rum and Coke, propped up on his elbows on top of his bedsheets. Before every call with Sara, he likes to be prepared: relaxed, happy and slightly buzzed to quell the nerves that come with getting to know someone you think is entirely out of your league. He’s also ready for their session in a different way, already semi-hard under his jeans and lightly squeezing the bulge through the rough denim every now and again.

When Sara shows up on the screen, he experiences that visceral reaction he can never quite get used to when faced with her. She’s wearing an oversized shirt and no pants. If he wasn’t already half-hard, he would be at the sight of her nipples pressing against the lightweight cotton.

No hellos. She looks up at him from under her bangs, the very ghost of a smile at the edges of her lips.

“Stand up,” he says. It’s not a demand, not yet, but it is firm.

She rises from the deep blue of her sofa and there’s some fumbling while she moves the tripod so the camera can take in a full-body shot. The shirt grazes her upper thighs, but he can’t quite make out whether or not she’s wearing panties beneath it. 

“Turn around for me, please. Slowly.”

She’s on her tiptoes, padding in a circle, and raises her arms above her head. The shirt rides up. Black, lacy panties.

“Good girl,” Jack says, trying not to smile. She shimmies, her fingers laced at the back of her neck, and he needs her to take that shirt off.

“What do you say?” he prompts her. 

“Thank you, sir,” she replies.


He looks her up and down once more, revelling in the warmth between his legs. He squeezes.

“Turn around. Show me your panties.” 

She smirks and twirls on one foot. When her back is to him, she flicks up the back of her shirt , revealing a sheer mesh panel that only just covers two gorgeous, plump cheeks. His mouth falls open despite himself, and he exhales roughly.

She turns back, toying with the top button and pulling it away from her body. 

“What are you going to do?” he prompts her.

“Take it off?” she offers.

“Now, now,” Jack admonishes. “You’re going to be a good girl. You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do.”

She purses her lips.

“Got it?”

She nods. “Yes, sir.”

Jack settles back and looks, just for a second.

“Take the shirt off,” he says. “Slowly.”

Sara closes her eyes and breathes in, running her hands over her breasts and up to the top button. She leans her head back and pulls the shirt downwards, exposing her collarbone. Catching Jack’s eye, she uses one hand to unbutton, the other to continue to caress her breasts through the fabric. She brushes her nipples with her palm, her ring finger, her pinky. The next button she undoes will reveal them to Jack, so she takes it slow.

Jack is focused, his hand moving over the bulge in his jeans, squeezing it to create a distinct outline for Sara to take notice of.

Sara flicks the button and her shirt falls open. While Jack is distracted, she makes quick work of the remaining buttons so that with her next move – a brief shrug – the fabric slips off her shoulders until she’s only half-wearing it.

“That wasn’t slowly,” Jack says. Sara shrugs again and her breasts bounce, just once but it makes Jack throb.

“If you’re going to be bad, you need to be punished,” he continues. “Put on the nipple clamps.”

Sara disappears out of shot for a second and Jack unbuttons his jeans to gain better access to his cock. He slips his hand inside and grasps it, rearranging its position from stretching down his thigh to pointing up towards his abs, still covered by light gray boxer briefs. He strokes very very slowly and sighs.

When she comes back into shot, Sara is running the silver chain connecting the two clamps between her fingers. She turns her back to Jack, who wants to complain, but also really wants to enjoy the view of her pullable high ponytail and slappable ass, wishing he was with her in person. Twirling back around, Sara loses the shirt completely and is now only wearing black on the bottom and silver on top.

“Pull on it,” Jack says, and she tugs gently on the chain, her eyes closing in pleasure or pain or lust.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Lie down on the sofa now.”

Sara drops the tripod to the correct height, then spreads out on the couch, one long smooth leg reaching over the armrest, the other bent at the knee.

“Do you have the vibrator?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Use it on your nipples.”

Tinny buzzing echoes from the screen. Sara’s nipples, squeezed tight between the clamps, are deep pink from the combination of pressure and vibrations. With one hand she draws the bullet from left to right, dipping into the curve of her cleavage and making sure each breast gets equal attention. With the other, she gives intermittent tugs on the nipple chain, deepening the clamp’s squeeze, and each time she does so a quiet moan escapes her lips.

Jack is stroking harder underneath his briefs, a rhythmic motion he tries to keep steady as he doesn’t want to rush. But his balls are tingling and his toes want to curl.

“Further down,” he says. 

Sara traces the vibe down her stomach, shivering a little when she reaches her hourglass curves, and hover at the edge of her panties. 

“Over the top,” Jack demands. She slides the bullet down, down until she hits the spot. He sees her press it hard against her clit for a pause, before starting to make clockwise circles. He knows that’s how she likes to be touched. He can picture her little pink clit under her briefs aching for metal-on-skin, skin-on-skin, tongue-on-skin contact.

“Do you like that?” he says in a low voice. “Do you like teasing your hot little pussy while I stroke my hard cock for you?”

“Yes, sir,” she moans.

“Do you like being a dirty little slut for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are you?”

“A dirty little slut, sir.”

Jack’s briefs are wet with precum. He finally pulls his cock out and lets his pace grow faster and faster. Sara’s hand rests by the connecting chain, and Jack knows she wants to pull it to add an extra sting of pleasure, to let the sensations shoot from nipple to clit. But he’s going to wait.

“Your neck,” he says.

Sara directs the vibrator back up the curves and dips of her body to tease it lightly from the bottom of her right ear down to her collarbone where she lingers, mouth open slightly. She drags it leisurely to the other side, letting the rattle of metal on bone through skin thrill her deep in her cunt. Jack notices that her free hand has crept inside her underwear – she’s matching the vibe buzz for buzz. Her pussy is wet and two fingers slide inside easily, hooking upwards and back while her thumb stays out to massage her clit.

“Take them off.”

Sara rips off her underwear and relaxes fully, taking the vibe on a journey back down to replace her thumb on her clit. She bucks her hips gently along with the thrums, and lifts her other hand to her mouth to suck the juice from her two fingers.

The sight makes Jack’s cock jerk up and out towards the screen, and he groans with the pain of near-orgasm. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he rasps.

Sara sucks in her cheeks around her fingers, slowly releasing them with a lascivious sucking noise. Jack growls, his balls tight and his cock straining.

“Cum for me,” he demands.

“Yes, sir.” 

Sara grinds the vibe against her clit and tugs on the nipple chain in synopation: one tug makes her back arch, one pulse of the bullet makes her legs tremble. She is close: creeping tingles fizzing out from between her legs, setting her whole body on fire. She finds a rhythm, closes her eyes and oscillates towards climax, the combination of pain on top and pleasure below ramping up and up and up until it unifies in a blast of static, and she’s crying out – one hand frozen on her chest, the other riding the wave until it softens and ebbs.

Jack meets her there, suspended mid-stroke as his dick thrust and twitches, spraying over his lower abs. His eyelids flutter and his thighs flex uncontrollably. He exhales shakily. He laughs.

Sara is lounging back against cushions, breathing heavily through the aftershocks’ ripples. 

“Take off the clamps,” Jack remembers to say.

Sara’s eyes are grateful as she twists and releases. She massages her nipples.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Good girl,” Jack replies. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack’s screen goes blank. He sits back. His phone vibrates: a text from Sara. It’s just a winky face. He smiles and taps a reply.

Meet the author...

Meet the author...

Despite being a writer, Kirstyn Smith still isn’t very good at amusing bios. She works freelance as an editor + writer, and she’s also founder of Marbles – an independent magazine that explores mental illness with irreverence, rawness and humour. In her free time, she likes to nap, eat chips, run and consume all things spooky. But mainly the chips thing.