by Nikki Chase
But other than that, he sounds like the perfect dominant man.
I check his full profile.
There’s no picture—disappointing.
But he’s thirty-one, which is great. And he lives in the same state as me, which hopefully means he won’t mind traveling here to see me. I’m too broke to go anywhere right now.
There’s a green light next to his username. PuppetMaster is online.
I hesitate.
I can start a chat with him.
But what do I write?
Maybe I’ve been too hard on the guys who send me messages. This is not easy.
I decide to go on the offense. I want to see if this guy will put me in my place.
RealLifeDoll: Did you write that message yourself?
I don’t know how I want him to respond. A simple “yes” would be boring. If he’s offended, that’s probably a sign of a deep insecurity. If he admits it’s been plagiarized from somewhere else, then there’s no point in me chatting any further with him.
It only takes seconds for a check mark to appear beside my chat message. He is online. Probably has chat notifications turned on, too.
I watch my phone screen, holding my breath as three dots appear beside his username—it means he’s typing a reply.
PuppetMaster: Why do you ask?
I start to move my thumbs to type, but three more dots show up next to his username. He’s not done talking.
PuppetMaster: Is it so good it could’ve been a quote from somewhere?
My lips curl into a smile.
That’s a good response. Confident, but not confrontational. I like that.
RealLifeDoll: Yes, Sir
I’m not being polite, and he knows it. If he’s a dominant man, and he likes me, that should whet his appetite for me.
PuppetMaster: Good girl
And … that does the same thing to me. As a submissive woman, there’s nothing I crave more than the approval of a dominant man. And make no mistake, even though we haven’t even seen each other, he’s already begun his domination over me.
RealLifeDoll: Thank you, Sir
PuppetMaster: Tell me something, doll
PuppetMaster: Why only one use?
RealLifeDoll: To keep things uncomplicated.
RealLifeDoll: Do you have a problem with that, Sir?
If he does, that would be a shame.
Sometimes, I envy the submissive women who have permanent dominant partners. There’s so much trust there they can push the limits as close to the breaking point as possible.
I don’t have any direct experience with it, though. I don’t do relationships, and I don’t plan to.
PuppetMaster: No
I breathe a small sigh of relief. It’s hard enough for vanilla girls to find guys to have coffee with on Tinder. For kinky girls like me, the pool is even smaller.
If it doesn’t work out with this guy, I may have to wait for weeks before I find someone else I like.
PuppetMaster: Just curious
PuppetMaster: Don’t you believe in love?
I laugh. Such a cheesy question. I’m going to have to drop him like a hot potato if he goes soft on me.
RealLifeDoll: Nope
PuppetMaster: Most girls do
Okay, he’s getting irritating now. I don’t like being compared to other people.
RealLifeDoll: Well, I’m not a real girl, remember?
RealLifeDoll: Just a real doll
I hope this will bring us back on track. I’m not interested in getting to know this guy’s life. I just really need to be dominated by someone who knows how to.
PuppetMaster: Good
PuppetMaster: I like a girl who knows her place
Hot damn. With every word he types, my desire for this man grows.
The way he lights up my imagination, I don’t care that he has no picture. It doesn’t matter what this guy looks like.
I mean, it’s not like I’m going to show him off at parties. We’re just going to meet once and part ways forever.
PuppetMaster: Tell me something about yourself, doll
I smile.
RealLifeDoll: Is that an order, Sir?
PuppetMaster: Of course
PuppetMaster: Tell me something real
PuppetMaster: Tell me why you don’t believe in love
I narrow my eyes at the screen. I’m not going to answer that.
If that was his first message, I would’ve blocked him, no problem.
But he’s said other things, too—and they make me think he’d be the perfect guy to kick me out of this funk.
So once again, I try to direct his attention elsewhere.
RealLifeDoll: I know something more fun for us to talk about
RealLifeDoll: Why don’t you tell me your nuttiest, most out-of-this-world sexual experience?
PuppetMaster: You don’t get to call the shots with me, doll
That’s hot. I love that he’s showing me who’s boss. It makes me fantasize about things he’ll demand of me when we finally meet.
PuppetMaster: Maybe you’re not what I’m looking for after all
No. No, please don’t go.
This guy is, like, so far ahead of the others it’s not even funny. I’d tear my hair out if I have to go back to chatting with idiots who can’t even spell.
I mean, he’s kind of an asshole, but I kind of get off on that, so …
RealLifeDoll: I’m so sorry, Sir
RealLifeDoll: Would you give me another chance to be a good doll for you?
I bite my lower lip. I love how cocky he is. He’s not like the other guys on this site—they’re usually way too eager to meet up with me, to the point of desperation.
Guess what? That’s not attractive, boys. Especially when you’re talking to a submissive woman.
But this guy … I’m so soaking wet I’ll have to change my underwear after this.
If he were to say all those things in person? I’d melt into a submissive puddle.
I just hope he’ll still respond to my messages.
PuppetMaster: Ok
As I let out a big exhale, I realize I was holding my breath.
He’s still typing. I stare, unblinking, at my phone screen.
PuppetMaster: Did you want to tell me all about your craziest sexual experience?
RealLifeDoll: Yes, Sir
RealLifeDoll: I’ve had quite a few
RealLifeDoll: But this was particularly wild and memorable
RealLifeDoll: In short, I had sex with a random guy in a park
My heart pounds in my chest. Is that going to be too much for him? If it is, he might disappear. But if he does, that means he’s not what I’m looking for in the first place.
I want something absolutely filthy. And I can’t get that with a pearl-clutcher.
PuppetMaster: How did it happen?
That doesn’t sound judgmental, which is a great sign. Sure, this is just going to be a one-time thing, but I want to make sure he’s the right guy for the job.
RealLifeDoll: I was in a park at night
RealLifeDoll: He came over and asked me for a cigarette
RealLifeDoll: So we sat down on a bench and smoked together
RealLifeDoll: We started talking
RealLifeDoll: It was a pretty emotional conversation
RealLifeDoll: He was just a kid who was going through some tough times because his parents had thrown him out
RealLifeDoll: I hugged him to comfort him
RealLifeDoll: One thing led to another
RealLifeDoll: Suddenly his hands were under my shirt
I wait for a response. PuppetMaster has been quiet—he’s not even typing.
Maybe he’s jerking off to my story. I hope he is.
Or maybe he’s just a good listener. But that’s kind of hard to judge when I can’t even see his facial expression. I wonder if we should move this conversation to a video chat …
PuppetMaster: And you liked it, I assume?
This would be a shameful memory for a lot of women—if they were crazy enough to attempt something like it in the first place. But to me, it was a way to feel alive again.
How can you not feel anything when your heart is hammering so hard your body’s shaking and you can’t even think, so you let someone else make all the decisions for you?
I live for that feeling.
My heart races as I type my reply. Just talking about the experience floods my system with exhilaration. It’s like I’m going through it again, in a small way.
RealLifeDoll: Very much so
PuppetMaster: Did you see him again?
RealLifeDoll: No
PuppetMaster: Did you wear a condom?
I frown at the screen.
At this point, a normal guy would ask for sexy details about the rendezvous. He’d ask what I was wearing (an easily accessible sundress), where we did it (between some shrubbery at a dark corner of the park), which position we did it in (I stood with my back resting on a tree trunk and his mouth hungrily latching onto my nipple the whole time he was fucking me), and whether anyone saw us (I have no idea).
This guy just skipped the sexy bits and went all the way to the only part about the encounter that I’m ashamed about.
RealLifeDoll: No
RealLifeDoll: I wasn’t planning on fucking anybody that night
In fact, that was the first time I ever did anything more risky than the standard one-night stand. Previous to that, the only time I had casual sex was with Luca, and he used a condom.
PuppetMaster: Sounds risky
RealLifeDoll: I know
RealLifeDoll: But that was years ago
RealLifeDoll: I always insist on a condom now
RealLifeDoll: I hope you don’t mind
Judging from what he’s said so far, it doesn’t sound like he’d have a problem with that. But guys like the illusion of having options.
Not that he has any, though. If he wants to fuck me, it’ll be—one, with a condom, and—two, a one-time thing. I don’t have too many rules, but I’m a stickler for these ones.
PuppetMaster: Not at all
PuppetMaster: It’s important to stay safe
PuppetMaster: Are you clean?
Some people would get offended by the question, but I literally just told him I’d fucked a random guy at some park. I totally get why he’d be concerned.
RealLifeDoll: Yes
RealLifeDoll: Luckily, after that encounter, all I came home with were angry scratches all over my back from the tree bark I was leaning on
I hope he takes the bait this time so we can talk about something sexy. My pussy is begging me to slip one hand into my panties.
This guy doesn’t talk much. When he’s silent, I wait with bated breath for his next word. And when he says it, he seems completely and utterly in charge.
PuppetMaster: I want you to get tested and show me the results
Ah. My first order from PuppetMaster.
Sure, getting tested for STDs is probably the least sexy thing in the world for a lot of people.
But I never pretend to be normal.
To me, the fact that he’s telling me to do it if I want the privilege of being used by him …
I can’t help it. I want to obey him so much I can’t stand it.
My right hand travels south and finds my wet petals as I hold my phone with my left hand.
RealLifeDoll: Does that mean we’re meeting up?
PuppetMaster: Maybe
PuppetMaster: Show me your test results and we’ll talk
My insides heat up with arousal as I play with myself. He’s making me work for his approval, and I’m loving it.
RealLifeDoll: Don’t you want to know where I am first?
PuppetMaster: I already do
What?
Is this guy some kind of a hacker?
I can’t believe he’s spying on me.
Things have just gotten hotter.
RealLifeDoll: What do you want to do to me?
PuppetMaster: I’ll tell you once you show me your test results
PuppetMaster: I expect you to have them next time we chat
PuppetMaster: Bye for now
Wait, what? He’s just going to leave, when I’m just starting to warm up?
I check his status at the top of the webpage.
PuppetMaster is offline.
Jesus. This guy must be the cockiest, rudest, and most demanding person on the site … Where has he been my whole life?
I put my phone down next to me on the couch. Closing my eyes, I rub my clit to images of a faceless man ordering me to pleasure him, telling me that’s all I’m good for, making me beg for the slightest attention from him.
The chat has gotten me so hot and bothered, it only takes minutes for me to shake and shudder, moaning in my empty living room.
When I reopen my eyes, I’m panting. Breathless.
I can already tell this guy is going to satisfy my cravings. He’s going to make me feel alive again.
I know, I know. That’s a lot to ask of some Internet stranger. In all likelihood, he won’t live up to my expectations.
Still, anything has got to be better than this whole lot of nothing.
I’ll have to add “get tested” to my to-do list. I can continue researching security systems at the doctor’s office.
As orgasmic fog dissipates from my brain, I wonder again … how does PuppetMaster know where I am?
Is he a local here at Ashbourne?
Does he know who I am, too?
A chill runs down my arms at the thought.
Luca
Jesus, Sarah. A random guy at a park, really? What the fuck … ? He could’ve been an axe murderer, or a homeless guy.
To be honest, when I decided to send Sarah a private message, a part of me was hoping that her post was a lie, that she just wanted to see what kind of replies she was going to get. I wanted her to stay pure.
But the way she was talking … There’s no doubt about it. She’s the real deal.
When I push her, she doesn’t push back. Instead, she does the virtual equivalent of falling to her knees, apologizing, and asking me what else I wanted, all while calling me “Sir”.
My dick hasn’t been this hard in a long time, mainly because there’s a limited range of pussy in this small town.
The game was getting too predictable. Even after a long absence, if I wanted someone to come and suck my dick right now, all I have to do is pick one of the numbers on my phone. Easier than a frozen meal, and faster than a pizza delivery.
But it was still fast food. I haven’t really ever had my fill since I moved here from the city. After what happened, it doesn’t feel right for me to gain a woman’s trust, only to turn around and inflict pain on her body.
It’s not that I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t think this darkness within me will ever go away.
I just thought I could substitute variety for intensity, but even that’s gotten old now.
I thought I was getting old. I’m not in my twenties anymore.
But my cock’s raging right now. All I can think about is Sarah calling me “Sir” with sweet submission in her big doe eyes.
Even her stupid hobo story was turning me on. Yes, I was angry. But also aroused.
It’s a different kind of arousal than I’m used to—no, not because there’s anger in the mix; I’m used to that. There’s anger and aggression, like I want to fuck her so hard I erase all trace of any other dick that’s been in that pussy—that’s the normal part.
What’s strange, what’s really choking me up, is this heavy stone in my chest.
I’m aching with the same pain she’s suffering; we’re not only nursing the same wound, but also dealing with the same addiction.
Problem is, nothing can fill the hole left behind by grief.
After years of trying, I know the truth. All I can do is accept each new hole as death does its thing and somehow live a complete life despite all those
holes crippling me.
Most people still hope for a quick fix, though. Some kind of a miracle cure to magically fill the hole left by a person. I see that hope in the faces of some of my customers—the ones who ask for memorial tattoos.
What they don’t know—what Sarah also doesn’t know—is that no amount of ink or sex can fix grief.
I should know. My body’s covered in ink, yet I still hurt. I tried sex and drugs, too, and they didn’t work either.
I don’t mind using my tattoo gun to unleash physical pain on my grieving customers. They usually like their memorial tattoos right after, but I’m sure in a few days they stop meaning anything. Neither ink nor pain can summon the dead.
I can do the same for Sarah, too. Give her temporary pain on the outside in order to bring her temporary relief on the inside.
But it’s different with her.
I already know I can give her what she wants. But she’s a junkie engaging in risky behavior to feed her addiction, and I won’t enable her. Peter wouldn’t have wanted me to.
Over the next few days, Sarah doesn’t even get online. I try to forget the whole thing, pretend it was just a dream.
Sarah must’ve been lying.
No way she really slept with a homeless guy.
She’s probably ghosting me right now. She’s not seriously going to let some random guy from the Internet fuck her the way she says she wants.
But one late afternoon, as the skies outside start to turn pink and purple, my phone beeps. I twist to see the screen flashing on my desk.
Fuck.
That must be Sarah.
I’ve turned off all other notifications so my phone doesn’t make a sound unless it’s her.
I put my tattoo gun aside. I don’t usually touch my phone while I’m working, but I can do an infinity sign tattoo with my eyes closed. Besides, the girl who requested the popular design looks like she wouldn’t mind staying here longer. She’s batting her eyelashes at me right now.
“Give me a minute.” I give her my usual customer-service smile as I grab my phone.
“Take all the time you need,” she says slowly in a raspy voice as she wiggles on my tattoo table. Is that supposed to be flirting?
Who cares? I’ve got more important things to deal with right now.
I check my messages, and sure enough, there’s a new one from Sarah.
There’s no text in the message; just a PDF attachment.
