As you might have guessed, my sexual fantasies involve some very dirty things, and phone sex never made that list. I mean, jerking off to a girl's voice? Isn't that for people who are addicted to 900 numbers? Those perverts.
It wasn't until a few years into my exploration of BDSM when tele-eroticism suddenly became interesting, not as a goal but as an effective solution to a tricky set of challenges.
When I first started playing with Morgan, a tall 20-year-old athlete at UCSD, she had no experience as a submissive and no confidence in her ability to delay her orgasm for as long as I might require. Due to the distance and our busy schedules, I had to think of ways to keep her challenged between sessions, especially in the area of orgasm control.
Orgasm control and you
Unlike vanilla sex, where the goal is usually to climax quickly and often, a well-trained submissive is always focused on pleasing her Dom. The amount of pleasure or pain she receives is entirely up to him, and it usually depends on how well she fulfills her sole purpose of giving pleasure rather than receiving it. Since the orgasms she's allowed to experience tend to be quite a bit more intense than the vanilla variety, they can be an extremely effective training tool... but only if they can be fully controlled.
I'll never forget the time I watched a friend's amazingly well-trained dog balance a chunk of red meat on its nose for several minutes, salivating and whimpering, until her master finally signaled her to flip it up and catch it in her mouth. I was awed by this demonstration of perfect obedience and discipline, and I aim for the human equivalent with every sub I play with. For me, this means teaching her to ask for permission, hold her orgasm until I decide she's earned it, beg only when instructed, thank me while she cums, and thank me more formally when she's finished.
Taking the reins
Morgan faced one major roadblock on her path to successful orgasm control: she was incredibly horny. As far as I could tell, her day basically consisted of class, homework, swimming practice, and flicking the bean. Since the goal of masturbation is to climax as soon as possible so you can get back to being productive—exactly the opposite of what I was trying to teach her—this posed a major problem. Even if I saw her once a week, how could the five or six orgasms I made her hold possibly compete with the other forty or fifty times she'd practice the wrong way?
To turn this ship around, my first step was to take full 24/7 control of her orgasm. She'd have to ask for permission to touch herself, ask for permission to cum, and thank me for allowing her to do both via phone, text, or email. When she did have permission, she'd only be allowed to cum after she brought herself right up to the edge and backed off twice.
If she was feeling frisky when I was asleep, or in a meeting, or on a plane, well she'd just have to deal with being horny. After all, the whole point of this exercise was to teach her to place my pleasure and convenience before her own gratification.
Unenforceable yet self-enforcing
Rules like this are impossible to enforce, and a little cheating is inevitable. I was expecting Morgan to sneak one in when she wasn't supposed to, and I wasn't surprised when she fessed up only a couple days later. She told me the guilt was just eating away at her, but I suspected an even stronger motivation.
Both of us wanted this power dynamic—it wasn't just me—and when she broke my rule and got away with it, she effectively dissolved the fantasy she'd been craving for years. Once I had the chance to hoist her up by her ankles with her legs spread and punish the greedy little pussy that got her into so much trouble, she was right back where we both wanted her: under my total control.
With these ground rules in place, it was time to take my long-distance training plan to the next level. At exactly the time I specified, I told her I wanted her completely nude, lying on the floor with her knees up and legs spread, playing with her clit, Bluetooth headset charged and ready.
I'd call her ten to fifteen minutes later when I knew she'd be amply turned on and desperate for release. About a minute into the call, she'd ask, "Sir, would you like your slut to cum?" That's when things got interesting.
I'd tell her to keep playing with her clit, not to even think about stopping or slowing down, and then I'd start making her earn that extra-special reward. "How and why do you cum, slut?" I'd ask.
"With your permission and for your amusement, Sir."
"Good girl. And where's your place when you're serving me?"
"Naked and on my knees, Sir." And so the inquisition continued.
If she gave me an incorrect response, I'd have her work her clit even faster and wait even longer. If I thought I could push harder, I'd have her finger-fuck herself while she continued playing with her clit, sometimes while grinding her pussy into her hand, and I'd talk more about how I'd use her in person.
When I felt she was at the end of her rope, I'd tell her she could beg and that it better be convincing. Usually it was. When I sensed she had nothing left, I'd tell her to cum. Then I'd lay back and listen to one very intense and well-earned orgasm.
Finally, I'd hear a breathless and trembling voice say, "Thank you, Sir, for allowing your slut to cum." I'd tell her what a good girl she was while she cleaned her fingers with her mouth and tongue, and then it was on to more pussy stimulation in one of the other positions we'd be using in person.
Practice makes perfect
Beyond the functional benefits of fucking a beautiful girl for as long as I want without her pleasure interfering with mine, this process has some important psychological impacts. First, it taught Morgan to think of her orgasm as I did: not as a means of selfish gratification but as a training aid to make her better able to please me. It also conditioned her to associate sexual pleasure with my permission and the sound of my voice, which reinforced my ownership of her sexuality and made unassisted orgasms more difficult, less enjoyable, and effectively pointless.
This brings me back to what I believe will always make BDSM more intense, intimate, and rewarding than vanilla sex: it's bigger than any one act. It lives in our minds even when all we can do is call or text each other. I can take or leave the dirty phone conversation just as I can do without the casual and forgettable Saturday-night intercourse, but knowing a girl is denying herself for my pleasure is a fantasy I'm happy to relive anytime.
I do think my friend went a little far with that steak-on-the-nose trick though. I mean, torturing a poor little dog like that? That's just plain cruel.